Modest, Too
by Luan Mao
Summary: Tear it all down and build it back up, better. It's a modest goal.
1. Betrayed

Disclaimer: Sigh. Is this really necessary? The characters aren't mine. I had nothing to do with their creation or popularization. The story was written before I was even born and I don't know where it came from or how it got posted under my name.

**Note**: This story derives from a unfinished work by Jeconais, available on fanficauthors-dot-net. He has graciously given his permission for me to expand on his work. The basic setup and some of the dialog and scenes in this chapter come from his _Modest, Too_. Later chapters will be cutting new ground.

(If you're not already familiar with fanficauthors-dot-net, take a look. Its stories are mostly in the HP universe and are of consistently high quality.)

**Modest, Too**

**Chapter 1: Betrayed**

**...oooOOOooo...**

Some days life just sucks.

I think I'll take that as a family motto. Write it on the outside wall of my house. Write it in goblin heads mounted on the wall.

So, there I was, locked inside a vault somewhere in Gringotts. I'd gotten a letter saying I'd inherited another vault, please come and confirm, blah blah. Like an idiot I'd believed them and come in to collect it.

I'm an idiot because I knew the goblins were mad at me. I'd emptied my vault and taken to storing the gold and heirlooms myself. This made Gringotts look bad and cut into their profits.

The paperwork looked routine: some family name I'd never heard of, third cousins on the Potter side. Last magical member died, no non-squib heirs. Pretty common, what with pure-bloods inbreeding themselves into insanity, infirmity, inability, and impotence.

Down in the caverns, my escort opened the door and waved me in. The last thing I heard was "Death to enemies!" before the vault door slammed.

The vault held no piles of coins but several chests. The chests were all empty except for a couple of letters.

__

Potter.

You have been declared an enemy of the Goblin Nation. Emptying your vault and encouraging others to do the same impacts our profits and is considered an act of war.

We will make a goblet from your skull and drink to your painful death.

The letter started to burn up the moment I finished it – destroying the evidence, no doubt – but a flame-freezing charm saved it. This letter was going into my _special_ file.

__

Harry,

I regret to say that necessity forces me to acquiesce to an otherwise unpalatable act. The Goblin Nation has informed me, in my role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that your recent actions regarding your vaults, while fully legal in and of themselves, unacceptably impact the profitability of Gringotts Bank and thereby threaten to undermine the economy of the entirety of Wizarding Britain.

I have an additional concern, beyond those expressed by the Goblin Nation. Your immense power, my dear boy, could lead you into morally dangerous ground. You have magical might, financial force, and public prestige which would allow you to move society in any direction you chose. To my dismay, you have not yet acquired the wisdom that comes with age, experience, and proper guidance. As such, I greatly fear that you could, all unwittingly, destabilize our ministry and our society. The attainment of some measure of wisdom, alas, requires many years, years which we may not have in light of your possible influence and our current instability in the wake of the last great crisis. I have no choice but to isolate you from our society.

Luckily, the problems of the goblins and those of the wizards may be addressed by the same action. The goblins shall place you in a form of suspended animation and store your body in a high security vault deep within the caverns of Gringotts. This operation has the full support of the British Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot. To do otherwise would endanger the stability we seek, as some radical elements of society might seize upon the goblins' actions as a violation of the Goblin-Wizard Peace Treaty of 1836.

Allow me to apologize, my dear Harry, for any subterfuges which have been perpetrated in getting you to where you are reading this letter. In your current stage of moral development, you would most unfortunately not accept this next role you are to play.

Take no fear, the goblins have assured me that their stasis charms will keep you perfectly preserved. At Britain's next great need, you will be awoken as a legendary hero in a situation where you can put your immense power to best use. In the meantime, your legend will grow and you will serve as inspiration to generations of magic's finest.

Rest assured, you continue to serve the Greater Good.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Order of Merlin, First Class

Wasn't that nice. I briefly wondered if there was any crime that Dumbledore couldn't, or wouldn't, justify as "for the Greater Good". Worry about that later. First order of business was to escape. I was carrying a little food and water, but not even a day's worth. I'd correct that oversight at the first chance: carry two weeks' necessities at all times.

I shot a couple of spells to test the walls. Shielded, as expected. Ceiling, too. This was supposed to be a prison cell, or a tomb.

But the floor wasn't shielded. It was just rock. That's why these little bastards are still living underground instead of owning the whole country. They're always making stupid mistakes. All their grand schemes have some gaping hole and fall apart as soon as the first thing goes wrong. Like their little game with the money in "highly secure" vaults. They wouldn't have gotten away with it past a couple months if wizards weren't even bigger idiots than goblins.

I shot a blasting curse at the floor, and then another. After a few minutes I was winded and had blown a hole in the floor … four inches across and a foot deep. Blasting spells weren't going to get me out of here.

They didn't have to. Opening a pouch-of-cool-stuff on my Phat Utility Belt, I carefully lifted out a large, glass jug. Magically enhanced acid. Very powerful. Eats through anything.

One careful pour and a wait later and I had my exit down to the next vault. A nice _full_ vault. How lucky I had a never-full bag on my belt. I'd been cheated out of the vault I'd come to empty, so I may as well take this one. No, I wasn't stealing. You'll see.

I tried to leave the vault, but the door wouldn't open from the inside. This made sense, from what that one scrawny goblin told me the first time I came here with Hagrid. It's part of the protection – even if a thief breaks into a vault, he can't get out.

Nothing for it but to keep burning my way down. As I worked my way through eight more vaults, I helped myself to the contents. If my plan worked, the owners were going to lose it all anyway. No sense in letting the money go completely to waste. I might as well profit from their loss.

After a while the "never full" bag reached its limits, so I dumped the Knuts and then the Sickles. Even carrying only golden Galleons, the bag filled up and started getting heavy. I'd have complained about false advertising, but I was carrying millions of Galleons – several tonnes and several cubic yards, all in a belt pouch.

Just as I was running out of acid, I found myself looking down into open space. Finally! I'd be able to get myself down to that floorway, then either follow the cart tracks up or hijack a cart as it went by. It would have been nice to fly, but my broom had been destroyed That Day and I hadn't gotten around to replacing it. Sloppy of me, but I'd been _busy_ since then.

No worries. One cushioning charm and a drop later and I was lurking by the cart track. A few minutes' wait and "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The cart rose from the track, flipped end over end, and returned to the tracks pointing back up. The goblin in the cart got dumped into the apparently bottomless pit that formed the core of Gringotts, but that was his problem, not mine.

Damn! I forgot. I meant to save his head to start my collection. Maybe the next one.

The cart controls were easy to figure out – Go and Stop. There really was only one speed. – so in moments I'd started the next stage of my escape.

The usual fun cart ride – I _do_ like high-speed acrobatics, whether on a performance broom or in a mining cart – was tempered by the need to prepare my next step. I was going to utterly destroy Gringotts.

I had a bomb.

Not just _a_ bomb. An A-Bomb.

I made it myself.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Please forgive a brief tangent. I want to brag a little.

Making the materials was challenging, time consuming, and dangerous. Building the thing was tricky, but no more so than setting up a good set of house wards or enchanting an object. The concept isn't that hard for someone with both a Muggle science background and a magical education, so long as he was told the basic idea. The tough part was coming up with the basic idea. It was screwball enough that I'm not surprised no one else ever came up with it. It took Hermione and me together, sitting back and brainstorming ways to defeat Voldemort and complaining about the corrupt and incompetent ministry and the pure-bloods in charge. A bit of adult beverage in our not quite adult bodies might have played a role, as well.

How does an A-Bomb work? The simplest kind, the World War II kind, just pushes uranium or plutonium chunks together. Muggles do it with explosives. Wizards don't do it at all; wizards don't know uranium from lead.

Making the uranium was a challenge but once I got it figured out it was mostly just time consuming. Dangerous, too, but Muggle safety gear worked just fine.

How did I make the uranium? Think about this: for ages, people have tried to convert lead or rocks or anything else into gold. Only Flamel succeeded.

Hardly anyone tries to convert gold into other elements. Why would they? Everyone wants as much gold as they can get.

But some things are more valuable than gold.

In ordinary Muggle chemistry, elements can be converted into one another by adding neutrons and protons and what-not, or by hitting them and causing them to split off some of their protons and neutrons and what-not. It gets complicated and I don't understand it all, but the first important point is that it can be done.

The second important point is that different arrangements of protons and neutrons and what-not have different amounts of energy. Again, it gets complicated, but the bottom line is that iron contains the lowest energy. That's why the earth's core is mostly iron instead of mostly tin or silver – as stars burn and explode and elements get made and remade, it's easier for neutrons and protons and what-not to settle into "iron" than most other elements.

Now let's bring this back around to magic and my Bomb.

If there's an element with the lowest energy, it makes sense that there's an element with the highest energy. I don't know what that element is in chemistry. It doesn't matter. The same applies to magic. Gold contains the highest magical energy. That's why it's practically impossible to convert lead into gold. Converting gold into lead, or into uranium, isn't such a challenge. It's not trivial, but it can be done without a Philosopher's Stone.

Aside from protecting myself from radiation as I experimented and then went into production mode, the only hard part was making the right kind of uranium. U-238: useless. U-235: the good stuff. I ended up studying drawings and images of U-235 nuclei until I was seeing them in my sleep. Then all I had to do was hold that image in my head as I did the transformation. After a week I had about 25 pounds of pure U-235. Easy! Well, not easy, but not as hard as memorizing the years of all five thousand goblin rebellions for History tests.

That's my raw material. Designing the bomb itself was tricky, but again, coming up with the basic idea was the hard part. The rest was just trial and error.

Think about your standard shrinking spell or runes. Change something big into something little. If you cast the spell or activate the runes on a trunk, the contents of the trunk are shrunk as well, without damaging or distorting them. That's how I'm carrying my Bomb right now. It's in a smallish lead box which was shrunk down to matchbox size. Everything inside comes through fine; I know because I checked this before. Cancel the shrinking rune and my Bomb is the same as it started, a cube the size of my head.

That cube is itself a box, but not a normally shaped box. It looks normal, but that's kind of a trick. Its front and back walls are only a hair's thickness apart. And the front and back walls fold around until the whole thing looks like a box inside another box. But it's not. It's one box.

Remember, when you shrink a box, whatever is contained within is also shrunk.

The "inside" of this cube is _outside_ of the box.

Put the uranium "outside" the box, separating the chunks so they don't set each other off. Shrink the box to a 1-inch cube. Compression. Neutron flux. Heating. Nuclear explosion. The box is magically strengthened so it can squeeze the metal but it's not strong enough to withstand the explosion.

Charge up some runes that will let go when the bomb goes off, add in a time delay cluster on the activation runes and you have a physical and magical Bomb.

I wish Hermione had been able to see it. Even if she would have hesitated to actually use it, the bomb itself is a magico-technological masterpiece.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Nearing the top of the track, I debated pulling my invisibility cloak over myself. I didn't have any great faith it would do any good. Dumbledore, Fake Moody, Real Moody, and Voldemort all pretty much ignored my cloak. Even if goblins couldn't see through it, they might be able to smell me – noses that big ought to be good for something. In the end I decided not to use the cloak. I'd probably have to fight in the next few minutes and it might get in my way.

Into the cart terminal, ready to fight and … nothing? Where was everyone?

There they were. Another cart came up from the caverns. Boom, flash, flash, slam, and we had a headless goblin, two stunned wizards, a locked door, and me hopped up on adrenaline.

My Bomb went into a downward-headed cart. I strapped it in snugly, taking more care with this baby than most travelling wizards did with their real babies. Set the timer for five minutes, and check it twice. I was starting to get the shakes and it wouldn't do to make a mistake here.

Push the Go lever and it was time to get out of here! I levitated the snoozing wizards with me. I wasn't too happy with the magical world at the moment, but I'd give these two strangers at least a chance.

The lobby was chaos. Wizards were being hustled to the exits, while goblins gathered up the stuff in their tellers' stalls or stood around threateningly. I heard lots of variations on "But I need my money today!" as the humans protested their expulsion.

"Potter!" "It's Potter! Get him!" A few tellers had spotted me and raised the alarm. A couple of hulking security goblins headed my way, weapons out.

Of course, a hulking goblin comes only to my shoulder. Their swords and halberds would be intimidating against an unarmed opponent, but I was hardly unarmed. "_Diffindo_!" and the goblin nation was down two more.

Between goblin banking dishonesty, my escape from a high-security vault, and the uselessness of the guards, I was wondering if the goblins deserved any part of their reputation. Oh, treachery. Yes, that was right on the mark.

The inside goblins shouted more orders and the outside guards started to close the big doors. Here, the eviction of the wizards from the bank backfired on the goblins. The doors wouldn't shut with all the humans in the way. I joined the crowd and sliced off the heads of two more guards. A couple of the nearby wizards shouted at me, saying I couldn't do that and that I was breaking the treaty. This is the sound of me caring.

"Potter! Harry!" I was getting annoyed at being shouted at. At least this voice was pleasant, human, and female. "Did you cause all this? The goblins closed the bank because there was a break-in." It was Davis, one of my old classmates. Not "old". She's the same age as I, but a lot easier on the eyes.

"They're lying. Like always. They locked me in and I broke out." As we talked, the crowd cleared the Gringotts doorway. A few more steps to clear the wards and I'd portkey home.

"Potter!" Getting really annoyed. "What did you do this time, Potter? Come with me until this is all cleared up." Red cloak, loud voice, bullying attitude. An auror. They did damn-all in fighting the Death Eaters, but they sure knew how to push around law-abiding citizens.

"_Stupify_!" Technically, I'm still law-abiding. He was going to arrest me just for being nearby when something strange happened. In the anarchic despotism that passes for British wizarding government, that counts as a crime. However, according to the laws on the books we're allowed to resist false arrest.

"This must be big, Potter. Take me with you?" I looked at Davis. She'd managed to push through the gawkers and get next to me. Tracey, that was her name. I hadn't seen her in over a year. We'd spoken a dozen times in the six years I was in school. Thank you, House system. "I don't know what's going on, but it's something big. Things will be rough if Gringotts closes. You can keep me fed. I'm pretty hot. I can earn my keep." She thrust her chest out with that last bit.

I thought for just a moment as we made those last few feet to the edge of the Gringotts wards. She was pretty enough, easily the best looking person in sight. Not that that was saying much. Two dead goblin guards; an unconscious, burly, and male auror; various wizards and witches of various ages but all in a state of near panic; a toothless granny smacking her gums while staring fixedly at me.

But I kept getting burned by trusting people.

"Swear you will never betray me. Hurry!" There couldn't be more than a few seconds. Fortunately we were finally past the wards. My hand was on the portkey and I was ready to grab Davis.

"I, Tracey Davis, swear that I will never betray Har–"

Wham! The earth heaved and flung us off our feet. I grabbed Davis in the air and triggered the portkey.

**...oooOOOooo...**

At best, portkey travel is unpleasant.

It's downright brutal when you start the trip tumbling through the air and your whole center of mass is nowhere near the portkey because you're holding a girl in one hand and the portkey in the other. The spinning during travel was worse than I'd ever felt before. But that was nothing compared to the landing.

We slammed into the wall of my home's arrival room, still spinning so fast that we actually went up the wall a few feet before dropping to the floor. Davis seemed stunned. I'm lucky that I wasn't, as I started throwing up everything I had.

After the usual thousand years of cramping misery, it ended. Davis cleaned up my mess and helped with my breath.

"Thanks, Davis. Earning your keep already?"

She blushed just a bit, then grinned and said, "Cleaning lady wasn't the position I'd expected you to put me in."

I smiled, the first time all day. It was a good decision to bring her here. Sitting and brooding over the world's injustice wouldn't do me any good. "I have an elf. He's on vacation. You can meet him sometime tomorrow. Meanwhile, you didn't finish your promise. I'm serious about it. I've been screwed over and betrayed too many times, and I'm not giving anyone the chance to do it again."

"I, Tracey Davis, swear on my magic that I will not betray Harry Potter or cheat him or reveal his secrets."

I was aware that this wasn't a proper binding oath – that required a third person to take the oath and more formal wording. The question was whether she realized it. Probably. She had been sorted into Slytherin, so odds are she was a pure-blood and raised in this culture. Eh, good enough. I wouldn't be trusting her too much.

"Thank you. For my part, I promise to keep you fed and keep a roof over your head while we are working together.

"On that note, let's get some tea while I make supper."

As I puttered around in the kitchen, we got to know each other a bit. She had a little sister, her parents had a business, she still lived at home while she decided what to do with her life. I didn't have anything comparable to offer. I'd been just a little busy lately, so hadn't given any thought to life after Voldemort. No family, no friends.

Davis was fiddling with something and casting a couple of minor charms. It was nothing threatening so I ignored it. Besides, I was keeping my shield up. I may have brought this young woman to my home, but I wasn't going to fully trust an almost-stranger.

I turned to the table with my tray of tea and small sandwiches, and wow! I almost dropped the tray. She was pretty half an hour ago, even disheveled and looking scared, but now, wow! I couldn't even tell you what she'd done, but her hair was different and her eyes were huge and her robes had been reshaped. And what a shape!

"Uh, wow. Looking good there, Dav– Tracey." I paused to take a deep breath and roll my tongue back up. Witches' robes didn't normally show that much cleavage. Heck, most witches didn't have that much cleavage to show. As she waited for me to take in the sight, Tracey grew a pleased smile and crossed her legs. I took another breath. Witches' robes didn't normally show that much thigh, either.

"I told you I'd earn my keep, Harry. Almost all my money was in Gringotts, and I don't have a lot of useful skills. All I have is me. I'll be honest that I'm not happy about earning my keep this way, but I have to be realistic."

"Don't worry. Mostly what I need is someone to talk to. I don't plan on going anywhere for a while and I'd probably go crazy here by myself. I've been locked up and isolated before, and I always came out half crazy. I did bring you here partly because you're a pretty girl and I'd rather have you around than that old granny who was eyeing me."

"So you're saying I'm not going to have to sleep with you?"

"Probably not."

"What if I want to?"

"We'll see."

Tracey stood up and struck a pose. "Are you sure you wouldn't want the granny? Who knows what she'd bring? All I've got is great tits, killer legs and a pretty face."

"And you're modest, too. I like that in a woman."

We both laughed, then fell quiet as we ate the sandwiches.

While we ate, the adrenaline finally wore off and I started to droop. And I started to think about what I'd done today. It was one thing to kill Voldemort or a Death Eater. They were trying to kill my friends or me and it was them or me. The goblin guards didn't bother me; they were charging at me with blades out. Them or me.

But I'd done more than that. Who knows how many goblins were killed when their caves came down.

I'd detonated a _nuclear bomb_ in the middle of London!

It was one thing to say that goblins were treacherous little bastards who should all be killed. It was another to go and kill them all.

Even as most of me withdrew into unwashable guilt, another part stood back and hated myself for the angsty display. This was going to be a great night…

**...oooOOOooo...**

I woke up the next morning curiously refreshed. The nightmares hadn't been bad, not even as bad as a normal night. I still remembered the guilt, but it didn't cut as sharp.

Most likely the reason for the good night's sleep was the full-sized teddy bear curled into me. We were on a couch in the lounge. Fully dressed, though Tracey's "fully dressed" was the revealingly remodeled robe from last night. She must have brought me in here when I went into my spiral.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Ack! Breath! Sorry, Harry, but you've got to take care of that!"

She was right. It's bad when you can smell your own morning breath. I waved her to a guest bathroom, fully stocked for guests who might be lacking the necessities, while I headed for my own.

Morning ablutions taken care of, we met back in the kitchen. I had clean clothes; she was still in yesterday's.

"Did you say you lost everything when the bank collapsed? Last night is a little fuzzy. I can take you shopping if you need."

"I'll be fine if I can get things from home. Harry, can I ask a favor?"

"You can ask. I'll probably even do it. Thank you for last night. I normally would have been up all night crying and hating myself, but I feel pretty good."

"Just earning my keep. I'm glad I could earn it with my clothes on. Um, about the favor. I'd like to tell my family I'm ok. And see if they're ok. And, um, maybe give them some food or some money? I was at the bank yesterday to get money to buy groceries. We were running pretty low. I can earn it…"

"Tell them you're ok, no problem. I have a protected floo so you can call out and I'll still be safe here. Send them some money, no problem. Oh, that reminds me, I need to empty out my pouch from yesterday. Send them some food, maybe. Dobby does most of the shopping, so I'm not sure how much we have."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Before you call, I have some ground rules. Don't tell them where you are or who you're with. You're ok, you got out safe, you'll see them soon. Sorry, but it's like I said yesterday: I've been betrayed by everyone who isn't dead. Dumbledore, the Order, the goblins, the Weasleys, the Ministry. Everyone."

"I'm sorry, Harry. If it's any help, my family isn't in any of those groups. Mum and Daddy have a small import business, Grammy was just a housewife, and Natalie is only five. Remember my promise? There shouldn't be any problems even if I tell them everything. Well, Daddy might be upset if he finds out we slept together."

I snorted. "Five? You're eighteen right? That's kind of spread out, especially for wizard families."

"Cad! Never ask a lady her age." Tracey giggled, then continued, "You're right. Daddy wanted to name her Oops, but Mum and Grammy wouldn't let him."

"Haha. Let's check the pantry. I'll make breakfast while you put together a package for them."

Soon enough we were at my floo fireplace with a box of groceries and a bag of money.

"Davis Digs!"

I quirked an eyebrow and Tracey shrugged. "Mum grew up in America during the hippie days."

The floo wasn't working. It might be just one of those things. Yah, right. More likely it was a result of yesterday's shake-up.

"Can you apparate us there? I can go with you in case there's a problem."

"No, I'm not strong enough to dual apparate. I can tell you the apparation coordinates, if you can take us."

We appeared in an alley near the Davises' house in Kent and made our way to the front door. It was a small family house in a Muggle neighborhood, maybe not even as big as the Dursleys'. Decently kept up but I noticed things needing some care. Tracey had said her parents ran a business, so they probably didn't have time for upkeep.

"Tracey! I'm so glad you're all right! We were so worried. Why didn't you come back?"

"I spent the night with – Hmm, I can't say. But he needed me. We couldn't floo. It's not working."

Mr Davis noticed me for the first time. The atmosphere turned a bit less cordial. Downright frosty, in fact. "Mr Potter. Thank you for defeating You Know Who. But that does not give you the right to just grab any attractive young witch who catches your eye."

"Daddy! It wasn't like that! Harry helped me get out of Gringotts, then brought me to his place and gave me supper. I stayed because he needed help after the fight. What happened with Gringotts, anyway? We got away just as the earthquake hit."

Tracey had mollified her father with the first part and distracted him with the second. Good technique. I would just have to watch out in case she used it on me.

"No one knows what happened. No one knows anything. There's a hole where Gringotts used to be, the aurors and obliviators are running around, and no one knows anything else. You said you were there? What did you see?"

"Mr Davis, that would be me. I happened. Maybe talking about this on the front porch isn't a good idea?"

Inside, Tracey rushed to find her mother and sister and deliver the groceries. Her father rather stiffly offered me a seat. He wasn't glaring at me, but he wasn't greeting me with open arms, either.

"So, Mr Davis, Tracey tells me you're a businessman?"

He recognized what I was doing, but took it as a peace offering and described the company. Just he and his wife ran it. They were trying to open up a new line or two, but that would take a loan from Gringotts.

"Mr Davis, even if Gringotts opens again, maybe you shouldn't go to them for a loan. Their loans are what led to the blow-up yesterday."

Before I could continue, the ladies all came in. Tracey had changed her robe, which was too bad from a visual perspective but a good thing from a father-shooting-hexes perspective. She proudly introduced Grammy Davis ("Call me Grammy. Mrs Davis is ambiguous."), Mrs Davis ("Call me Marie."), and Natalie.

"Mum and Grammy and Tracey've told me all about you. You're a hero! Can I have a hero hug?"

I wasn't sure how to take a pint-sized fan girl, but I couldn't refuse her a hug. She squeezed me as tight as a five year old can and informed me, "You smell nice. Not like Tracey's last boyfriend. He wasn't a hero."

Mrs Davis, Marie, saved me from this conversation by inviting us all into the dining room for breakfast, second breakfast for Tracey and me. They had just enough chairs for the family, so Natalie ended up on my lap. Fortunately the adults all seemed amused by her antics and weren't getting out a noose for the creepy child molester who came to visit.

"Thank you for the groceries, Harry. I'll admit I had been getting worried. Everything's in turmoil with Gringotts and we weren't able to get either wizarding or Muggle currency to buy any yesterday."

The meal passed pleasantly enough. The older women kept things light, asking about things Tracey and I both would have done in school, mutual acquaintances, and the like. They steered away from serious topics. They also prevented Mr Davis from reading Tracey or me the riot act, though I noticed him giving us a measured look or two.

After the food was gone and the dishes were cleaning themselves, the grilling began.

"Tell me, Tracey, how did you end up with Harry here?" Her grandmother sounded pleasant, but was watching us just as sharply as Mr Davis.

"Ah, we were all being pushed out of the bank when up he pops, looking seriously harked off. The goblins tried to stop him but he," and here she looked at her sister and changed what she was going to say, "ah, wouldn't be stopped. We got to the doors about the same time and I got his attention."

"How did you do that, Sweetie?" Her father wouldn't let us off the hook.

"Er, ah, I might have mentioned I was attractive and could, er, ah…" Tracey couldn't finish the sentence under her father's increasingly dark glare.

"She certainly is." I felt I should take some of the heat off her. "I hadn't thought about it, but as soon as she opened her mouth I knew I didn't want to be alone last night." The glare shifted to me. "Er, I knew I was going to have trouble sleeping and I thought maybe Tracey could help. I mean, it was a choice between her and an old granny. No offense, Ma'am."

I'm not naive. I know what came out of my mouth. I just couldn't stop it once it started. It was like it had a mind of its own. A suicidal mind. Tracey and her parents were bright red for three different reasons. My face was burning, too. I'm not afraid to admit it: I was hiding behind Natalie. Surely they wouldn't blast me with their daughter on my lap.

"Harry, dear, I don't think you're helping. If I may make a suggestion, keep quiet and let Tracey explain. She can't do any worse than you are."

"Yes, Ma'am. Marie."

"Now, dear, let's hear the actual story. Try to tell it in a way that does not have your father chasing Harry away and locking you in your room until you're fifty."

"It's like he said, if you take out the accidental double entendres. He had a bad day yesterday and didn't think he'd be able to sleep. I asked him if he'd take me with him to get away from the mob at the bank. He had a portkey. He brought me along to have someone to talk to last night. He made me a nice dinner and we talked a bit. When we fell asleep, we were wearing our regular clothes."

Natalie had been following the conversation, keeping quieter than I'd expect a little kid to do. This last was too much for her.

"You slept in your clothes? Why, Tracey? You normally sleep naked."

Tracey turned red again. Something must have changed in my face as well, because her mother looked amused and her father looked upset again. Grammy wasn't reacting much, but I had the feeling she was taking it all in and judging me.

"Ahem. Well, it wouldn't have been right for her to do that because she was sleeping with me and…"

"Not helping, Harry. Tracey?"

"It's like he said, again. After the fight to get out of the bank, Harry passed out early. I didn't know his house and his elf was away, so I got him to a couch. It was the only place to sleep I found, so I slept on the couch, too. And Mum's right, Harry. You need to be careful what you say. Unless you're trying to find out if an outraged father can do what You Know Who never managed and rip the Boy Who Lived apart with his bare hands."

"I won't let him! I'll protect you, Harry."

"That's why you're on my lap, Natalie. You can be my official bodyguard when I come to visit, ok?"

"If you are done provoking my son, can you tell us what happened at Gringotts?" Grammy was steering the conversation onto more useful, and less dangerous, ground. "The goblins don't close their doors if they can avoid it, to avoid lost profit. Even less will they detain a wizard without very good cause, and yet Tracey referred to you fighting to get out of the bank."

"The goblins tricked me and locked me in one of their vaults. I broke out and fought my way out. Tracey found me and the rest went like she said.

"Ma'am, you may be right about the goblins not breaking the treaties, but this time they had the approval of the Ministry and Dumbledore."

Everyone digested that for a few moments.

"Harry's the hero! Anyone who locks him up is the bad guy."

"I don't know if I'm a hero, Natalie. I've done some bad things. But I will say, I try to do the right thing."

"You are a hero! Tracey tells me stories about you every night."

Tracey's face was even redder than after the "naked" remark. How interesting. I would need to follow up on this the next time we were alone. If her father ever let us be alone before she's fifty. I'd at least have something to tease her with, and maybe…

"My daughter is right. I've never heard of you being on the wrong side of a fight, except for the nonsense the _Prophet_ spews. By contrast, everyone who deals with them knows the goblins will take every advantage they can get away with. If the goblins tried to lock you up, they were on the wrong side. If the Ministry supported them, it's for some dirty political reason.

"We're still going to talk about you sleeping with my daughter, young man, sometime when you don't have your bodyguard. But as regards Gringotts, I'm confident that you were in the right."

"Yes, sir, and thank you. The goblins declared me an enemy of the goblin nation because I found they'd been 'borrowing' from vaults. That's where they get the principle to make loans. When I found out, I emptied my vaults and told others they should, as well. That would hurt the goblins' profits, thus enemy.

"Dumbledore went along with the goblins because I'm a destabilizing influence. At least, that's what his note said. I don't know if I believe it. The old man keeps secrets even from himself, so who knows what's really going on. I don't know why the Ministry did it, but you're probably right. Someone got bribed or the Minister is afraid I'll run for election or some reason like that."

"What are your plans?"

"For today, I need to get back to my house soon. Dobby will be getting back and we need to make plans for cleaning the place out. Medium term, I plan to leave Britain. This was the final straw."

Looking around, I saw Tracey and Marie looking somewhat upset, Grammy looking firmly in agreement, and Mr Davis looking thoughtful.

"You can't leave! We need our hero. Don't let the goblins chase you away. Fight them!"

"I already fought the goblins yesterday. I kind of threw a temper tantrum and destroyed Gringotts."

That rocked the adults back a moment. They were probably thinking I had cast a giant Reductor inside the cavern and were wondering if it was safe to be around me.

"I threw a temper tantrum yesterday and broke a plate. Mommy gave me a spanking and took away one of my toys."

"I don't have a Mum." Natalie looked horrified and gave me a hug. "But I'll bet the Ministry would like to give me a spanking."

I stopped to think, which I hadn't done since I got here. It seemed I still was too trusting. What, I hadn't been burned enough by betrayal and people talking about my business? Slow learner, that's me.

"If you don't mind, could you all keep this conversation to yourselves? I have enough people talking about my business already. And I'll bet the Ministry is going to want to arrest me. I don't think I broke any laws but when has that ever stopped them? Er, you shouldn't even mention seeing me. You'd probably be brought in for questioning."

Everyone nodded agreement. My motormouth might not have hurt anything. If they could just keep quiet for a week or two, I'd be gone from the country and out of Dumbledore's and the Ministry's reach.

"Harry? Do you want me to come tonight?"

I was surprised to hear Tracey ask that. Our deal was done. I'd helped her a bit, she helped me get a good night's sleep. Fair trade, all debts paid, pleasure doing business with you.

"Yes. Please." I didn't mean to say that. Especially with a protective father in arms' reach.

Natalie cut through the measuring looks and growls. "Can I come? You're nice."

And the solution came clear.

"Would you all like to come stay with me? I have plenty of rooms. And Dobby would like it, too. He complains that taking care of just me doesn't keep him busy. Especially since I do most of the cooking."

And so it was settled. The adults promised not to betray me or reveal any secrets they learned while my guests. Everyone packed a suitcase of clothes for a short vacation, then we gathered around the portkey. One short trip later and I was giving the sickle tour of the former Black Summer Cottage.

"Cottage? I've counted six bedrooms so far. How much more is there?" Mr Davis was nicely impressed. Good. Maybe that would last until I was able to ask Tracey to sleep with me tonight.

"Not too many more. Natalie, would you like this room?"

Her eyes lit up and she tore for the king size bed, bouncing on it like a trampoline. Until she spotted the chests and shelves along the far wall. "Toys!" In just moments there was an explosion of dolls and stuffed animals. I think this had been Narcissa's room. Who would have thought the snobbish bitch would have had such a normal, girly childhood?

I ended the tour, not having shown the master suite – no sense in provoking the parents – or a few other features, and brought everyone back to the kitchen. Mrs Davis insisted on making lunch, so I took a moment to address something important.

"Natalie? The things you see and hear at my house have to stay a secret, all right? You can talk to your family and my house elf and me, but no one else. Can you do that?"

"Sure, Harry. I know about family secrets." She stopped to think. "Are you part of the family now? Is that why I don't have to share a room with Tracey? Because she's sharing with you, like Mommy and Daddy?"

Yes, it had all come clear to me. If my own mouth didn't get me killed, Natalie's would do it.

Peeking between my fingers after smacking myself in the forehead, I saw that Tracey was blushing yet again, Marie was laughing to herself, and Grammy and Mr Davis were … measuring me. I'd expected him to be angry. The only thing that had changed since the last similar situation was that he'd seen the size of my house. I hoped that my wealth wasn't that important to him. I wanted to be known for myself, whether Hero or Disrupting Influence or Just Harry, who wants to sleep with his daughter.

"That's not it, Natalie. This house has enough bedrooms that no one has to share if they don't want to."

"But you both want to, don't you, dears?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Marie." I was blushing. So was Tracey, even as she nodded agreement.

"I won't argue about what my _adult_ daughter gets up to, and I'm sure Robert won't, either. Isn't that right, dear?"

Murder having been avoided, we all tucked in.

With all the extra people, Dobby or I would have to shop soon. Speaking of which, where was Dobby? It wasn't like him to run late.

Repast and unstrained small talk out of the way, I invited Natalie down to the cellar. "Do you want to see something utterly, unbelievably cool? The rest of you might want to come, too. You'll probably never see the like anywhere else."

The Ooooohs were all I expected. It was just that cool. I mean, how often do you get to see a pile of gold higher than your head and ten feet across the bottom?

"That's why the goblins were mad at me. They'd been borrowing from my vault and other vaults without telling the owners. They'd use that money for their loans to businesses and regular people. They'd charge you interest for the loan, not give me any of it, and still charge me the usual vault rental fee.

"Stand back everyone. More coolness coming up."

I stood on the top landing and upended my never-full bag. The millions of Galleons came pouring out. When it was done, the pile was much higher than my head. It was a good thing the cellar was intended for storage, with a high ceiling.

Tracey and Natalie couldn't help themselves. Both dived on the pile and attempted to swim in it. "Ouchies." "Ow. Scrooge McDuck could do it. Why not us?"

"I could have told you it wouldn't work." The reason I could have told them is, I tried a belly flop on the first, comparatively small, pile. Not that I'd ever admit it. What I said was much harsher than "Ouchies".

"Natalie, come up here. Let's try something." She watched as I cast strong cushioning charms on the floor and walls and then conjured a concave disk. All of a sudden her eyes lit up and she tore up the stairs to join me.

I carefully sat on the disk on top of the mound and held out my arms to help her step over. Inched the disk forward. A bit more. And dooooowwn we go, Natalie shrieking in delight and Galleons spraying as we passed. We bounced into the wall, being pelted with the coins from our wake.

"That was the coolest thing ever!" I was informed at full volume. "Again?"

"I'll have to restack the pile before we can do it again. Some other time, ok?"

The Davises had to leave to tend to their business. I gave them a portkey, cautioning them that it would take them to the arrival room and that only I could let them into the rest of the house. Adjusting the house wards for greater convenience was on my to-do list, but it hadn't been important before today. Dobby and I could get in and out and we hadn't had any guests before.

Natalie needed a nap, and so did Grammy. Chasing after a small child would wear out anyone, especially an old lady.

That left Tracey and me to go shopping. And try to figure out what happened to Dobby.

We found him in the first place I looked. Whew! He reeked of … something. Stale booze, stale smoke, and stale sweat, I'd have thought, if that weren't unthinkable.

Dobby cracked a bleary eye open to see my gaping mouth. "The Great Harry Potter Sir should not be being awake so early. Dobby will be making breakfast for the Great Harry Potter Sir as soon as it is daylight."

"Uh, right, Dobby. It's a long time to morning. Get some more sleep." I closed his door and turned to Tracey. We gawped at each other a moment, then burst into giggles – that is, giggles for her, manly chuckles for me.

We dressed Muggle and I grabbed a wad of paper currency for groceries. I don't know why, but you can get the same food in a Muggle market as a wizarding, usually much cheaper. Money wasn't an issue for me, but being recognized was. In the Muggle world, I was just Harry, the guy they'd see around town sometimes. In the wizarding world I was always mobbed and stared at and propositioned. Today I'd likely have to fight my way through aurors trying to bring me in for reasons not clearly stated.

It was a pleasant walk of a lovely afternoon with a pretty girl beside me. Mr and Mrs Green would be surprised to see us together. "Say, Tracey, can I ask a favor?"

"You can ask. I'll probably even do it. Thank you for last night," she winked.

"Could you act like my girlfriend in the market? A while ago the owners asked me why they don't see me getting food more often, and I told them that I was living with another guy who does most of the shopping, and now they think I'm gay, and they want me to introduce my guy friend so they know who he is, and I'm not gay!"

My assertions of manliness were undermined by her giggles. She grabbed my hand and observed, "You know, Harry, maybe you should just never talk. It would save you a lot of trouble."

She was right. I should give some thought to a vow of silence.

Picking out the groceries was fun. Loaded with cash and faced with shopping for seven rather than two, we didn't fuss about choosing between alternatives. Get both! We filled one small cart and went back for another.

Trouble came in aisle four. There was only one box of my usual breakfast cereal – shockingly sweet, loaded with artificial colors and fruit flavors, and chock-full of sugary styrofoam chunks that were supposed to be marshmallows. And yet I was somehow addicted to it.

"Give that here, Potter. That's the one Natalie likes."

"What? Give up my treasure? My one true love? The only thing that gives me the strength to face the world?"

"Hmmph. Some hero, letting down a little girl like that."

"Oh, if only I had some other sweet thing to wake up to."

Mrs Green came along then, drawn by our flirting, er, friendly banter. She complimented me on finding such a good-looking girlfriend and praised me for turning my life around, then started grilling Tracey in that friendly yet persistently nosey fashion common to small villages, where everyone's business is everyone else's. Where did you meet? How long have you been together? Has Harry shown you _every_ room in that great house of his? How long are you staying? Long enough to be sure Harry doesn't relapse? You're shopping together but I don't see a ring, dear.

Good hero that I am, I rescued Tracey by asking Mrs Green if they had any more of my cereal in the back.

We escaped without much more ado. Mr Green courteously loaned me a cart to carry the two large boxes. I didn't need it, once we were out of sight, but he didn't know that.

Walking back, Tracey kept hold of my hand but stayed quiet rather than chattering as she'd done on the way out.

"Harry? If you want me to, I'll sleep with you. For your nightmares, or, you know."

"I'd like that. Just sleep, ok? It's only been a day, and I'm not that easy."

My joke fell flat. "I'm not, either, but sometimes you don't get the choice."

I didn't know what to say to that. I don't like being called a hero, but the fact remains that I'm good at rushing in and rescuing the damsel and killing the bad guy and destroying stuff. Comforting an upset girl? Not so much. I didn't know what to say, so I just held her hand a little tighter and walked on.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The rest of the day went quietly. That was good. Yesterday had been busy, if I might be permitted a bit of understatement. This morning had been stressful, what with murderous thoughts directed my way. Tracey's parents wouldn't be back until late, so I showed Tracey and Natalie and Grammy around the grounds and neighborhood. Natalie then had some lessons and I attempted to figure out the house wards so I could change the settings.

When Dobby finally crawled out of bed, he had a hangover that would raise the dead. And breath that would kill them again. Human hangover and pain killer potions don't work on elves, we learned, and he was no use trying to cook or clean or do his other chores – he was so bad off, I'm not sure he even realized there were new people in the house. I gave him a glass of vegetable juice and sent him to the hot tub until he felt more human. Er, elvish.

By mutual agreement, we all avoided serious topics until Tracey's parents could join us. Grammy could provide a mature viewpoint, but she was the first to admit that she had no patience with fools. Any advice she gave might simply reinforce whatever rash notion happened to enter my mind.

Until yesterday, I had nothing keeping me in Britain. No family. My one true friend was dead at my other friend's hand. Everyone else that I thought of as friend or surrogate family was either dead or had turned on me. All that was left were casual acquaintances. I wasn't going to stay for the Greens.

It had been my intention to sell my properties, gather up my money and portable possessions, and go somewhere outside of the British Ministry of Magic's reach. Even before yesterday's acquisition, I had enough money that Dobby and I would never do without.

Now? Now I wasn't so sure I wanted to leave. Maybe I was just grasping a nice, normal family, much as I had grasped the Weasleys as a child. Maybe it was just the pretty girl near me and the fact that she had friends and family here and wouldn't want to leave.

Eh, worry about it later. There was a laughing five year old to chase around the yard.

I made supper. Tracey sang as she set the table and helped me. She had a nice singing voice. Maybe not professional, but I could listen to it for the next fifty years. I smacked the side of my head. Down, boy. Don't get your hopes up.

Grammy showed Natalie how to do some simple food preparation tasks, enough that the little girl later proclaimed that she helped cook supper.

All in all, it was a nice, homey scene. I'd never seen anything like it. Even at the Weasleys', back when I was still welcome there, it was always Molly telling everyone what to do, usually with a lot of shouting to keep them on task. Here, we all just found something to work at and chipped in. I didn't know what to think about it, so I just kept cooking.

We played games in the evening until Natalie's bedtime. I got a little mopey when I thought that I could have had this if not for stupid Voldemort and the stupid prophecy and stupid Dumbledore. But every time I got too depressed it was my turn to roll again. Yes, I made a good decision yesterday. If I hadn't brought Tracey here, no doubt I'd have been in full depression for the last 24 hours, with no end in sight.

The Davises arrived in the late evening, about when I was thinking it was bedtime. I let them in, pointed them at supper, and wished them a good night. Apparently it had been a tumultuous day. They had news. They'd tell us about it in the morning. I was too tired to listen just then.

"Tracey?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Will you spend the night with me? Please?"

"Yes, Harry. I had already planned to. Let me clean up and get clothes for tomorrow and I'll join you in your suite."

We separated to shower and such. I thought that it might be a good idea to offer to wash her back. Maybe someday.

After the shower I dressed for bed. Normally I sleep in the nude. Like Tracey, apparently. But I couldn't do that tonight. Especially given the effects of thinking about her sleeping in the nude. She was right, she does have great tits…

Just in time. Tracey knocked, then came in. We were both a little shy but kept with the plan. She noticed that I was happy to see her but didn't say anything. She surprised me with a kiss on the cheek as we settled in, finding comfortable positions together. I was asleep in minutes.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Good morning, sleepyheads. Did you sleep well?"

I started awake and felt Tracey doing the same beside me. Dobby had opened the door for Marie, who was looking at us with a big grin. In fact, everyone in the house was staring at us. In bed. Together.

Mr Davis didn't look too happy, but noted, "At least your clothes are decent."

I gave a quick glance to make sure everything was covered.

"Modest, too."


	2. Market

**Modest, Too**

**Market**

"Good morning, sleepyheads." The entire household was staring at Tracey and me, curled around each other as we awoke.

"Marie, er, Mrs Davis? Could you pick out some clothes for Tracey and give them to Dobby, please? You won't be able to open that door again once you close it. Thank you. Could you all excuse us, please? Thank you."

"Of course, dear. Shall Dobby come right in or give you a few minutes?"

"Oh, we need at least half an hour. Make it an hour." Was Tracey teasing, or was I about to get a second wake-up? "Oh, relax, Daddy. I'm just kidding. Mum, if you can find something for me, we'll be out in a jif." Blast.

Left alone, Tracey and I got out of bed without any embarrassment – we were both clothed, after all – and without too much delay. Just a hug and a light kiss – morning breath, you know. Also, we didn't know when Dobby would be popping in and didn't want to get too carried away.

Turns in the bathroom to clean up and get dressed and we were ready to leave the safe room and face the music. Yes, we were both adults and this was my house, but Mr Davis seemed pretty protective and Grammy seemed pretty hard-nosed. If we ate in the kitchen and I could persuade Dobby to sit at the table rather than serve us, Natalie could sit on my lap and I could hide behind her.

Breakfast was pleasant and plentiful. Purely by chance, I'm sure, the two open chairs were not next to each other. As she did yesterday, Marie kept the conversation light. Dobby kept the platters filled, while chowing down plenty himself. I don't know how it works, but house elves can survive on almost nothing, but if there's enough to eat the little guys eat at least as much as a human teenager. As we ate, Mr Davis and Grammy kept looking at me, or between Tracey and me. Mr Davis was frowning a bit, whether angry or thinking I couldn't tell. No worries; Natalie was indeed on my lap again, so I was safe for now.

"Thank you for breakfast, Dobby. And thank you, Harry, for breakfast and the vacation in your lovely 'cottage'. Now that we've eaten, can we all talk about several serious matters?"

"Of course. Here, with the tea, or in a lounge, with comfortable chairs? Dobby will be joining us. He's my friend and will be involved in any decisions I make. Oh, and before I forget, do I owe anyone any apologies for yesterday? By evening I was totally out of it. I remember just snapshots of the afternoon and evening. If I said or did anything strange or rude, I'm sorry."

"You told me you'd love me forever."

My jaw dropped. Before I could get a full panic on, her mother cleared her throat discouragingly.

"Aw, you never let me have any fun," Tracey pouted.

"Didn't you have enough fun last night?"

"No such luck. Harry fell asleep as soon as he saw the pillow." Tracey shot me a dirty look which made me quail for a moment but gave me hopes for this evening.

"Poor dear. Better luck next time."

I was a little confused. Tracey and Marie's talk wasn't at all explicit, but it was still more than I was comfortable with around a five year old. I mentally shrugged it off. I'd never raised a little girl, so they probably knew what they were doing.

"Ahem. If you are all done? We do have things to discuss, of greater importance than teasing Harry and provoking me."

We gathered up a few games and books so Natalie could play quietly while the rest gathered for our Important Talk.

"Mr Potter, the meat of the problem is that the economy has almost halted because Gringotts is closed. Most people keep very little money in their houses. Most people also have only a few days' supply of food, as well. Our family was a case in point. If you had not been willing and able to help Tracey, we would have been very hungry by now."

I didn't know much about how the wizarding economy worked. Raised Muggle, kept locked up at Hogwarts or the Weasleys' or Grimmauld Place, unable to make honest friends in the wizarding world. It was a wonder I knew enough to function at all. Just as Dumbledore planned it. But I needed to save my brooding for later. For now, focus on what the Davises were saying.

"I think I understand. And let me guess, most businesses don't have much cash on hand, either. So you and Marie couldn't just pay yourselves from your shop, and most other employers can't pay their employees either. So no one has money to buy food or other things, and so the shops don't have money coming in, so they can't pay their employees, which takes us right back to no one having any money."

"Very good so far. Most business is conducted with bank drafts, promissory notes, and other claims on the vaults. Actual Galleons are too inconvenient for anything but shopping. Normally it's only the retail trade which sees a lot of metal money, and this isn't nearly enough to keep everything going."

I thought a moment. "Muggles use paper money instead of gold coins. Would something like that work?"

"Probably not. You're talking about fiat money. In the wizarding world, our bank drafts are backed by gold coins in our vaults. They're something like Muggle personal checks, not like the paper money the government prints. Muggle paper money doesn't have any real value. It did when it was first used, but now it does not. It doesn't have any real value but people think it does, so business keeps going. It would take a long time for wizards to learn to trust fiat money. The Muggle world took centuries to get to that point. And people are hungry today."

"What is the Ministry doing about it? This kind of problem is sort of their job, isn't it?"

Mr Davis grimaced. "The Ministry is doing what they do best: protecting the interests of the Wizengamot and other rich families, and running around without any clue of what's happening. I wouldn't look to them to lead us out of this crisis."

I grimaced in turn. That sounded about right. "And they're arresting people to make it look like they're doing something, right?"

"That, and telling everyone to remain in their homes until the crisis is over."

"There's another thing to think about, young man." Grammy was speaking for the first time. "The people may obey the Ministry and stay at home for another day or two, but soon they will become hungry and desperate. There will be looting of shops, and arrests, and riots, and raids on Muggles for food. I lived through that as a child. I do not wish to go through it again."

That was a sobering thought. Sure, wizards can conjure food and drink, but it doesn't do much beyond fill your mouth. Conjured tea or roast beef and gravy tastes like the real thing, if the conjurer is skilled enough, and it fills the belly for a little while, but it disappears very soon. No nutrition at all. I think that's why the Weasleys always ate like deprived animals at the Burrow: the family couldn't afford enough real food to satisfy everyone, so Mrs Weasley conjured up the difference. The kids thought they were eating their fill but were practically on a starvation diet.

"So what do you want to do about it? That is, what do you want _me_ to do about it? I assume we aren't just sitting here complaining about the world."

"Mr Potter, sitting in your basement you have enough gold to restart the economy. The population of Wizarding Britain is under 100,000. A little gold in the hands of the people would let them buy food and other necessities. This would let the shops pay their employees and buy from their vendors. Everything would start moving again."

I frowned. Yesterday Mr Davis had been impressed by my house and wealth, but it didn't seem that he wanted to get his hands on it. Well, to be fair, it didn't sound as if he wanted it for himself now.

"I see what you're getting at. But still, you're asking me to give away my family inheritance to help people who have never done anything for me, but who always expect me to save them from crisis after crisis. And who have stared at me and gossiped about me and attacked me since my first day back in this world."

"Harry, most people aren't like that. Most of them leave you alone. I'm sure they'd be delighted to shake your hand or buy you a beer as a thank you, but they don't chase after you or send howlers or marriage contracts." As always, Marie was a voice of calm and reason. "As for Hogwarts, it gets only a fraction of the magical children. You've never thought about the numbers, have you? Magical Britain has 50 or 100,000 humans. It depends on whom you count as part of the magical world. About a tenth are school-age children, including the Muggle-born. That's at least 5000 school-age children. Hogwarts has fewer than 500."

"Under 300, Mum. Daphne and I counted a few years ago."

"Exactly. Even if every student at Hogwarts were your sworn enemy, that's less than a tenth of the children. The same goes for the people you see walking down the street. Most of them leave you alone. It simply seems that you're being mobbed if a dozen, ah, enthusiasts swarm over you."

"What we're getting at, Mr Potter, is that you should not have any particular grievance against most of our world. The Ministry, yes, the rich bigots, yes, but not the ordinary people."

I nodded, seeing what he was saying.

"There's another reason you should consider helping, Harry." Grammy again. "From what you said yesterday, you were the one who caused this crisis. You had reason, perhaps good reason, but what it comes down to is, you destroyed the economy. You left people without money to buy food."

I've been hammered with guilt trips my entire life. I've developed a callus over that part of my soul. They don't work on me any longer.

But Grammy was making a good point. This really _was_ my fault.

"You're right, Grammy. But what can we do? There's no way I can hand every wizard a pouch of gold."

"House elveses could do it, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir!"

"Probably. But people who have house elves probably already have enough money to get by. I don't care about them. They're more likely to have been the ones attacking me all these years."

"We talked last night, after you and Tracey went to bed." Mr Davis scowled at me a moment before getting back to the main topic. "If you agree, you could make loans – not gifts, loans – to a number of small businesses. This will allow them to pay their employees, which may be enough to start things moving."

"You could also help some stores directly by buying food and giving it to people. If you want to, that is." Tracey was trying to get me to be a nice guy.

Maybe I'd do it. Yes, I was partially responsible for the current mess, but it was already a mess waiting for the next goblin rebellion or the next ministry screw-up for it all to come down. Marie had made good points about me not knowing the majority of people in the magical world, and them not doing anything to harm me. On the other hand, they hadn't done anything _for_ me, either, and they supported the system which worked to beat me down. And which worked to spawn a new dark lord every generation.

"Here's what I'm willing to do. I'll put up an even million galleons for loans to businesses, food packages to hungry people, and whatever else will help." A million was maybe a quarter of what I'd grabbed two days before. I still felt no guilt over that, as the money would have been contaminated, destroyed, or buried if I hadn't grabbed it. However, giving it away isn't like giving away my inheritance from my parents or Sirius. "I'll count out the money. Can you talk to whoever you need to talk to to get this set up? Say, is the floo working yet?"

"You'll have to check the floo, dear. We don't know what protections are on the house and it didn't seem a good idea to experiment. The Blacks had quite the reputation, after all."

As it worked out, Dobby was tasked to count out the money. He was able to adapt some house elf magic which lets them quickly grab the correct amount of money from a Gringotts vault. It would still take him a while to put together a thousand, thousand galleon sacks, but he could do it much quicker than the rest of us put together.

Mr Davis and Marie worked on a list of other small business owners to contact once I opened up the floo. The rest watched as I opened up the floo … or failed to. It wasn't bad enough that the system was still shut down. No, I had to get the forcible rejection in front of an audience. And the little girl had to start giggling at my blackened head and shoulders, setting off the teenager and even the grandmother.

"I need to get cleaned up. Tracey, would you mind helping?" If I was lucky she'd join me in the shower and maybe I'd get lucky.

No such luck. Tracey hosed me down right there in the foyer, to the screaming delight of Natalie and the chuckles of Grammy.

"Mister Great Harry Potter Sir is keeping clean and not getting the rest of the house dirty," Dobby said approvingly as he popped in, handed me a towel, vanished the spare water, and popped back out.

The floo being a complete failure, I tracked down the elder Davises to see if they other ideas for contacting dozens or hundreds of their compeers. I doubted we could find enough owls and I doubted I could apparate more than a couple dozen times in a day. I can take pain, but there's a limit.

Two hours later Mr Davis, Marie, Tracey, and I apparated away with lists and a handful of sacks each. We were going to a few of the Davises' more trusted acquaintances, offering them the loans before any binding contracts were written up and hoping they would help spread the word to more colleagues to see us at the Davises' shop for loans. If each businessman told three others, we'd be able to reach most of the private businesses in a day or two.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Before Dobby started counting out the gold and I worked on the floo, Tracey pulled me aside for a little something on the side.

"You owe me a ride, Potter, and you're giving it to me now. Size matters, so you're going to let me have it while you still have enough to show me a good time."

"Uh, Tracey? I'm probably all in favor of whatever it is you're talking about, but what are you talking about?"

"Oh, for Heaven's and Merlin's sake! The gold, Harry, the gold! Let's sled down the gold and have a nice, bumpy ride pressed up against each other."

"You see? I was right. I'm all in favor of what you were talking about. Come on. Less talk, less standing here, and less clothes."

Tracey shucked off her robes, then helped me stack the gold up into a nice cone shape. Vaguely breast-like, if I turned my head sideways. I hadn't thought of that when stacking the pile before, but the other times I hadn't had Tracey nearby wearing a crop-top.

We finally got it arranged to her liking – Why did it matter? It was just going to get messed up in a minute. – and climbed the twenty-four steps to the landing near the top of the pile.

Tracey wolf whistled. "Nice butt there, Harry! How is it I never noticed that before?"

I wasn't sure why she was trying to flatter me. We were already sleeping together, even if we were always too tired to do much more than just sleep. I'd let her and her family talk me into what they wanted for helping Magical Britain. What else might she need my good will for? But it had to be flattery because I was no hunk. I'd be short and scrawny for the rest of my life – thank you so much, Dirtbag Dursleys and Dumbo Dumbledore.

"It's because I've always known never to turn my back on a Slytherin, you despicable, untrustworthy person, you. Besides, it's not like the school robes show much. I never realized how good you look until last week."

"Thank you, kind sir. Play your cards right and this untrustworthy Slytherin might turn her back on you some night."

The conversation was leaving me in the dust. It was pretty clear that Tracey was more experienced than I, or at least was more experienced at racey talk. But we had arrived at the top of the stairs and I'd conjured another large disk for our ride.

"Let me get on first, then you get in front and I'll hold you tight, ok?" We settled in securely, ending up with my arms around Tracey's chest, mostly avoiding naughty contact. But speaking of naughty contact, Tracey seemed to need a bit more wriggling to get settled in than I would have thought strictly necessary.

The same as the time before, I inched us forward by jerking my hips. At about the third bump against Tracey's delectable derrière, I came to a sudden understanding of Tracey's last comment. Just in time to go dooooowwn.

We slid down, faster than before, then skidded across the concrete floor toward the wall. I forgot the cushioning charm!

After the impact, I was on my back, Tracey straddling my hips. "Our first time, I want it just like this," she told me with a kiss and a hip wriggle.

"Find me my wand so I can vanish our clothes. Our first time can be in about ten seconds," I managed to groan out. Something about the situation had me so turned on I could barely think straight. The "something" was most likely the sexy young lady almost exposing herself on top of me. "Ah, Tracey, did you notice you're half an inch from hanging out there?"

"Oh, what a gentleman you are, to inform me of my peril rather than merely take advantage! However did I get so lucky?"

"We haven't gotten lucky yet. Do we have time for a side trip to my bedroom?"

Before Tracey could continue the repartee I took a stinging hit to the head. Jerking up I dislodged Tracey just as she took a hit of her own. Leaping up and casting about for both my wand and the attacker, I was surprised to see Dobby just as he plinked another galleon at my forehead.

"Bad Great Harry Potter Sir! You and your Racey are making a mess where Dobby needs to work. Get a room before you do your naughty-naughty!"

There's nothing like an annoyed and vocal house elf to break the mood. Summoning my wand and our robes, I slunk away with Tracey, getting plinked on our bottoms all the way up the stairs.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"So where should we set up our market? Diagon Alley would be big enough and everyone knows how to get there."

"That isn't a good idea. Something is affecting magic along Diagon Alley. Plus, the muggle police have been checking the area and the Ministry has had to obliviate them to keep the secret."

"Ah, is the magic affected stronger the closer you get to Gringotts? Because if it is, I might know the problem."

"It seems to be. What do you know?"

"I destroyed Gringotts with an atomic bomb." Marie's eyes went very wide. From earlier talks it sounded as if she was familiar with science, so I explained how Hermione and I designed the bomb and I built it. When I finished, I saw that Marie had a very strange expression on her face. "What?"

"Harry, dear, it couldn't have worked the way you described it. The atomic nucleus … energy levels … It just doesn't work that way. I took several physics classes in college in America." Marie's eyes grew unfocused as she talked. "Joe Fenton was the professor. Excellent, excellent teacher. He could really bring the subject to life. He was my first crush. It was terrible, terrible what happened to him. There was a mishap with radioactives in a classroom demonstration. He died a horrible, agonizing death right in front of us. But he used it as a teaching moment to show us what not to do when handling dangerous materials."

"Er." I took a moment to figure out what parts of that I could ignore. Most of it. "It _did_ work. So whether I got the physics right or I just magicked everything, we had an atomic explosion right under Diagon Alley."

"You two can talk more about this. But right now we have a job to do. We can't use Diagon Alley because of the ministry and Muggles as much as the radiotron poisoning the magic. We'll need a place to set up, either a row of shops or an open area where we can set up stalls."

"Hogsmeade has shops, and there's no problem with a lot of wizards coming through. But I don't know if I want to get that close to the old goat sniffer."

"Really, Harry. You can entertain yourself with insulting names, but that only makes you seem petty or even childish. For now, at least, you need to appear as mature as possible."

Attempts to make me grow up having been dealt with, we turned back to finding a place for the market.

"How will everyone get there? The floo network is down, so it'll have to be apparition or portkey, right? Maybe a few brooms or automobiles."

"Most people will have to apparate. We won't be able to get enough portkeys in time." That made sense. Not many wizards can create an accurate portkey. It's not a specialty like setting up wards, but it isn't exactly heating a kitchen stove, either. Creating a portkey requires the caster to put as much energy into the portkey as would be required for an apparition, so there's a limit to the number any wizard can create in a day. Five or ten thousand portkeys, maybe two hundred casters, and a couple of days to do it in don't work out.

"So that means we should choose a place that most people can apparate to without much trouble. Hogsmeade is too far north, too far away from most. Even if it weren't too close to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-An-Old-Goat-Sniffer."

Marie swatted me on the arm before agreeing. "Northern Wales is close to the center of the wizarding population, I believe. I was thinking all along that a fallow field would be best for what we need: not many Muggles around, easy to set up tents and booths, not much concern for authorities of any type." Go, Marie! I'd have her talking like a rebel in no time.

Mr Davis looked up from his endless lists. "I know a Muggle farmer in northern Wales. If he doesn't have a field we can use, he'll know someone who does. I assume you'll want to rent the field rather than borrow and obliviate?"

I nodded firmly. One of Wizarding Britain's most infuriating traits was the belief that Might Makes Right. Wizards can do anything they like to Muggles and get away with it. They do the same to each other if they can. Hello, Dumbledork! I'm talking to you!

Wizards also seem too dim to realize that if they feel justified in doing anything they can get away with to Muggles, with no concern for the Muggles' rights, there's no moral reason keeping Muggles from doing whatever they can manage to wizards. And Muggles outnumber the wizards a thousand-to-one or more. I'd almost like to see a return of the real witch hunts and burnings, just to see the looks of ovine incomprehension on the purebloods' faces.

But I needed to steer clear of those thoughts or I'd pack up my stuff and leave the sheep to their fates.

Mr Davis made a note to get in contact with his contact and see what he could arrange. The details didn't matter to me. Whether bag-o'-galleons #534 went for a loan or to renting a field, it was all the same to me.

**...oooOOOooo...**

When lunchtime came we all gathered in the kitchen, only to find we'd all been too busy to make anything. Funny, that: going hungry because we were keeping Wizarding Britain from starving.

Dobby and I threw together soup and sides while Tracey helped Natalie help us and the three adult Davises worked on their lists of reliable businessmen. As we worked, something caught my ear.

"Mr Davis? Did you just say we should try to set up the market for a week from tomorrow?"

"Yes. We need time to finish spreading the word and distributing the loans, and for the businesses to pay their employees, and for the shops to pack up stock to take to a marketplace. We just don't see how to get it done any quicker."

"Wasn't the whole purpose of this to keep people from going hungry?" Realization dawned on their faces. "Isn't another week too long to wait?" And the dawning and the facepalm were the third day, and it was good.

The new plan, hashed out over lunch (which, regrettably for the narrative, was not hash) was to buy up groceries where we could and have people come and get it. We just couldn't distribute enough, so they'd have to come to us. Some people could help by grabbing a number of packets for their neighbors. Some business owners could pick up their bags of gold. Yes, we had ourselves a plan.

After lunch, Tracey and I had a new job. The Davises continued to make their contact lists and duplicate the revised loan agreement and Dobby continued to count out the money. I apparated Grammy and Natalie to a quiet spot near the Greens' market while Tracey brought just herself. It was another beautiful afternoon and another walk would have been nice, but we were in a hurry. Muttering curses, I then went back to the house, grabbed the cart Mr Green had so kindly lent me, and apparated again to the others.

Tracey and Grammy went through the store, choosing items to go into a care package. The choice was more limited than you would think – wizards apparently wouldn't know what to do with a tin or an add-water-and-heat packaged meal. I had the hard job.

"Mrs Green? You know how you wondered why I don't buy more groceries? I think I'm about about to buy a couple years' worth today." Her skeptical face drew me on. "I need to get enough for several thousand people for about a week. And I need it by noon tomorrow."

"Harry, you've been celebrating with that lovely new girl of yours, haven't you? Come with me. I'll give you some tea to sober you up."

"No, Ma'am, we haven't been drinking. It's too complicated to explain, but I know of a group of people who have been cut off without money or food. It would take too long to get government assistance or the Red Cross. It's partly my fault and I have to fix it, and they're hungry _now_."

"Harry, I've never known you to lie or prank, but this seems a bit strange."

"Ma'am, does it matter if I'm drunk or joking? I can pay for the food, and take delivery here or from the wholesalers."

"I don't know, Harry. This all sounds a bit fishy…"

Luckily, Grammy came to my assistance. I wasn't causing any fights but I certainly wasn't getting anywhere.

"Hello, Dear. I'm Sarah. What shall I call you? Esther? How lovely. Strange as it sounds, what Harry wants is above-board and well meant. So far as I can tell, Harry is honest, sane, and able to provide. I wouldn't consider allowing my granddaughter to bring anything less into the family. We all would prefer that he were better spoken but one can't have everything."

Grammy waved to the meat, flour, and other staples that Tracey had piled on the counter. "We would like at least one thousand of these kits. Ten thousand, if it can be done. Your store is too small to provide them all directly, but surely your distributors can provide. Harry will pay normal retail prices and you should get a good discount for such a large order. Harry can arrange for pickup at the distributors, saving their delivery fees, and you should be able to take half of the savings. If things work out as they should, you can clear six months' profit in a day. Now, let's sit down with a telephone and your supplier list and see what deals we can make. Harry, give me whatever money you're carrying; we'll use that as our earnest. Take the girls back to your house. I'll find my own way back."

Holy smokes, where did that come from? From the look on her face, Tracey had never seen that side of her grandmother before either. Steamroller Grammy, flattening obstacles and objections. Without a word, we three young'uns left the old ladies to their plans, apparating home as soon as we were out of sight.

Tracey's and my next job was to figure out how to keep several tons of food fresh for hours or a full day. The normal solution would be a cooling charm for short-term use or a rune-inscribed icebox for the long term. The problem is, my icebox, large as it is, wouldn't hold a tenth of the goods. I'm not sure I could apply a large enough cooling charm to cover it all even once, and it would have to be reapplied every hour or so. We could buy a few iceboxes… if the economy hadn't collapsed and everyone had not been ordered to stay at home.

Tracey and I experimented with casting charms together and in sequence. Not good enough. Neither of us knew enough rune crafting to even attempt making an icebox, even if the rune schemes weren't a trade secret.

Finally, after an hour of no progress, I smacked myself in the forehead, causing Natalie to look up in surprise before giggling at me.

"We'll do it the Muggle way. We can rent a refrigerated truck or a warehouse or even a restaurant cooler."

With the brainwave taken care of, it was easy to set up. We decided on a truck, so we could move it if the ministry or thieves started to hound us. Four hours and one roll of bills later we had lined up a truck each for the dry goods and the perishables. Mr Green took an agent's fee for connecting us with a friend of a friend who had trucks and needed work. The Greens were certainly doing well for themselves in our little wizarding crisis.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The next morning started very early. Many things to do if we were going to get people fed. Alas, from where I sat, or rather from where I lay, the late night and the early morning meant that Tracey and I didn't do anything but sleep. Still, it was nice to have the warm teddy bear and dream-free sleep. Nightmare-free. I certainly had dreams…

Before dawn Tracey, her parents, and Dobby went off to spread the word for people to come around to such-and-such address in Lincolnshire for food packages. We were hoping that enough people would contact their friends and neighbors that everyone who needed help would get it.

I took a large roll of cash to the wholesaler's location to pay them and the truckers and to make sure everything got loaded. This was going to take most of my muggle cash reserves. And I couldn't go and get some from the bank because I'd just paid my taxes on all my muggle property. That was ok; I'd figure out how to exchange a handful of gold for muggle cash in a few days. Besides that, in about a week I'd be getting some rent money on a handful of properties.

The truckers were there well before the required time, ready to stay all day, and willing to drive anywhere I told them so long as I paid mileage. It looked like the wizarding world wasn't the only one in a pinch. I paid half the base fee up front, as agreed, pleased that things were coming together despite being arranged in a hurry.

That didn't last long. Inside the food wholesaler's office I found there had been a "misunderstanding" and I'd have to pay extra fees in order to get my goods. All I had was Grammy's hand-written notes on the terms of the deal, no counter-signed purchase order or anything. I couldn't read the manager's mind but between the two of them I'd trust Grammy before him. I'd guess he'd gotten an idea of our urgency and thought he could hold us up for more money.

One greedy businessman wasn't going to keep me from feeding ten thousand people. I won't use magic to take advantage of the non-magical, but I won't be taken advantage of, either.

An hour later, I had my truckloads of food in an out-of-the-way intersection a few miles away. Dobby and the Davises were telling everyone to apparate to a hidden alleyway around the corner; the truckers wouldn't know they hadn't driven up.

Aside from the attempted early-morning rip-off, the day went surprisingly smoothly. Everyone else joined me shortly after the trucks were in position. Mr Davis and Marie vetted the people coming up; anyone could grab a food package and a flyer to invite their neighbors to come get some. Businessmen could sign a loan for a bag of galleons. Tracey handled the paperwork. Er, parchmentwork. Grammy and an energetic Natalie led everyone around the corner to the trucks. Dobby kept busy hopping around to the few businessmen we hadn't been able to reach yet. And I just floated around, watching for trouble. In particular I kept an eye on the gold; half a million galleons was a tempting target.

The expected happened right after I finished the sandwich Grammy brought me. Just as a bloody calf draws the wolves, word of a pile of galleons draws thieves. One "leader" and half a dozen "thug" types walked around the corner and clustered around the table where Marie and Robert sat. They hadn't seen me standing in a doorway ten feet off. Not professional criminals, experienced in these things.

Leader informed the Davises, "There doesn't need to be any trouble. We'll take the gold and let you finish what you're doing."

Marie started hyperventilating and backing away from the thugs until she hit the building behind her. She evidently didn't handle danger well. Robert was looking around for me and getting between Marie and the thugs.

"Gentlemen. Let's be reasonable here."

"Who said that?"

They didn't recognize me? How could that be? In the past few years I've been pictured at least as much as Dumbledore. I should have gone for that _Witch Weekly_ Most Charming Smile Award. Maybe that would have gotten me the extra fame I deserve.

"It's Harry Potter. And that's my gold you're trying to steal."

"Potter! No one said you were here." The thugs shuffled around uneasily and backed away a bit from the Davises.

"Sully. I didn't recognize you at first. I hope your kids are well. What is it you want?"

Sullivan looked at me as if I were insane. "The gold, of course. We need it. My kids, you asked about my kids. Well, they're getting hungry. Just like everyone else. And we figured, if we can take the gold we heard about, then it's ours. The whole world is falling apart and the ministry can't stop it, so it's every man for himself."

"You can walk around the corner and grab a bag of food, no questions asked. That'll keep a family fed for about a week. But why haven't you looked for work? Only the magical world has fallen down. The muggle world is still working. I'm sure you and your big, strong lads could have found work in a warehouse or dockyard."

"Work for muggles? Are you crazy? They don't have anything I need."

"That food I just offered you? It came from the muggles. Almost all of our food comes from the muggle world." I turned to the half-dozen "muscle" Sully had brought. "Gentlemen. I will have a bit of work for some people in about a week. They must be able to follow orders and be open-minded about muggles and half-bloods, or at least able to keep their mouths shut. If you wish, leave your names with the Davises here. Sullivan, I'm afraid I don't have any work for a man who doesn't respect that the magical world can't live without the muggles."

With his backup not only neutralized but co-opted, Sully had no choice but to back down. He did take a food package after I encouraged him to think of his children. That was the last problem of the day. We got a handful more "muscle" types leaving their names with the Davises. I guess the first group spread the word to their friends.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Next morning, I woke up too sore to move. Who'd have thought that standing up all day would leave me so tired and sore? I felt like I did after my first Quidditch practices, when as an eleven year old I was expected to keep up with fifteen year olds for three hours.

Tracey and I helped each other to get up and cleaned up – she was just as sore as I, and for the same reason – and staggered out to the knowing looks of her mother and grandmother. I wouldn't mind the looks if we'd done anything to earn them. As it was, it was just another annoyance, another unearned reputation. At least this one wouldn't have people yelling for me to save them.

After breakfast and an open-mouthed goodbye kiss and a hug from Tracey and Natalie (I'll let you figure out which witch dished which), I apparated to the workshop of Roger Crampen, broom maker. I had recognized him as he passed through the day before to get food. He didn't need a loan to pay his staff, as he had plenty on hand, but he needed food because the wizarding shops and markets were shut down and he had no idea of how to buy food from muggles, nor any muggle money to buy it with. I could admire his craftsmanship without respecting his inability to survive in the world.

In any event, I got Crampen's address and went to replace my destroyed Firebolt. This was part of my efforts to increase my own ability to survive in the world. I'd already stashed food and water in my belt pouch and added a few other supplies.

I left a thousand galleons lighter, but the proud owner of a rather fast and extremely agile new broom, as well as a used but good enough fallback broom. I carried them away rather than let anyone see that I carried goodies with me everywhere.

Back home, I set to work making portkeys. I might be able to make ten per day on top of the apparating I was doing. Every little bit helps. I'd leave it to Mr Davis to figure out how to get them to the people who'd use them.

**...oooOOOooo...**

During a break between portkeys, I found that Tracey also had a moment free. I winked and gestured for her to come with me. We found Dobby tidying up the bedrooms.

"So, Dobby, what was her name?" His hangover was old news, so a bit of teasing was in order.

"Excuse me, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir?"

"It must have been a girl elf, right? What else would make you get so drunk your last day of vacation?"

"Dobby doesn't remember elfette's name, but Dobby got her tea cozy." He pulled a scrap of cloth from within his uniform and rubbed it on his face, inhaling deeply.

Beside me, Tracey had an appalled look on her face, no doubt matching mine. We backed away without another word, hoping to avoid any more sordid details.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The next break had me looking for Natalie to run around the yard with for a while until I could make another portkey. She and Tracey were in her room, decorating a bit.

"Tracey, why didn't you bring your poster to your new room?"

Tracey glanced at me and blushed. I paid closer attention to what Natalie was saying. This ought to be good.

"We can worry about that later, Nat. Hey, do you want to go outside and go for a walk?"

I was disappointed. Seven years in the house of subtlety and clever plans and that was the best she could come up with? That wouldn't even fool a five year old, Tracey.

"Why don't you want to talk about your Harry Potter poster? If I had one, I'd put it on the ceiling so I could look at it when I went to sleep just like you did."

Tracey was trying to hush Natalie, with about as much success as I ever had. She was also glancing at me out of the corner of her eye and blushing even more.

"You told me it was a secret but we don't have secrets from the family and Harry's family now, right?"

Helping her overcome this excessive shyness would be good for her. Yes, it was my duty to tease her into normal behavior.

"You know, Tracey, if you wanted to see me over you in bed, all you had to do was ask."

Oops. Five year old, right here. Well, at least Tracey wasn't embarrassed any longer. Now she was just mad at me. Time to find someplace else to be.

I worked on the house's wards some more. It needed to be done, and it was just lucky for me that it had to be done from my study, which not even Dobby could enter without my permission.

The wards were giving me nothing but grief. The instruction manual talked about "permissions" for "users", "groups", and "world". I knew all of those words, but they must have some other meaning than the usual. I just couldn't figure out how to set things up so that Mr Davis could come in by himself and not in a "group" with Marie. And I had no idea how "bitty masks" fit into it. Maybe it was an arithmancy thing. I knew just enough arithmancy to get by, and maybe not even that much. That was more Hermione's thing, with her dragging me along for the ride.

I kept poking and changing things and seeing what difference it made. Usually not what I wanted. I managed to bar Dobby so severely that he couldn't even pop onto the property until I reset the wards. I'm sure I would have locked myself out of the house, except that as the blood-bonded owner I could always get in.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I was making portkeys well into the evening and watching Natalie most of the day. Grammy had over-exerted herself, watching the kid and taking care of other things on top of it. I was the only member of our group who could make portkeys – that is, the only one who could make portkeys that were safe to use – and could be spared from other jobs, so I got the duty. Not that it was that much of a duty. She was a good kid and helped me make supper and made me a cup of tea toward the end of the day when I'd made the last portkey I could squeeze out and was so exhausted I could barely walk. Before then, though, we had a lot of fun running around the yard and setting up a tea party for her new dolls.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The next morning had me waking up sore and magically tired, the result of making too many portkeys the day before. In particular, it had me waking up with a curvy, not especially dressed young lady snuggled into me, and me too tired and sore to enjoy it properly. I was working myself to death and missing out on the fun of being a young man with a young woman who liked him. I hoped everyone appreciated the sacrifices I was making.

Who am I kidding? This was the wizarding world. The major response would be, "What else can you do for me?" By next week it would be, "What have you done for me lately?"

Case in point, this morning had me visiting several groups of businessmen. Quite a few were getting nervous about the safety of the market. Not safety from criminals, safety from the ministry. Er, put that another way: they were worried about official criminals, not self-employed criminals. Aside from the general orders for everyone to stay home and not communicate, there were rumblings of new laws affecting businesses and public gatherings. Everyone wanted to see me, to make their worries go away. Yes, that's me: Harry Potter, combination teddy bear and lucky rabbit's foot.

This was hardly an ideal job for me. I'm not comfortable with strangers, thanks to my "freakish" childhood as well as people trying to kill me for the past seven years. And as the morning progressed I was starting to really resent the role I was supposed to play. Defending Britain from a power-hungry madman as an incidental part of defending myself from that madman does not mean I'm obligated, or prepared, to defend the population from a power-mad government. Although the same approach I'd used to defeat the undead fool might work here…

By lunchtime I'd had it. From where I stood, the only good to come from the day was that I'd arranged to stop at a few of their shops that afternoon so that I could add to the tools and supplies and cool stuff I carried with me. I guess that's one benefit of a broken economy: if you have cash in hand, you can get excellent service and specialty goods.

**...oooOOOooo...**

After my errands, and during Natalie and Grammy's nap time, Tracey ran into me in one of the lounges while I was between portkeys.

"Harry, there's something I have to get off my chest."

"Please say it's your shirt, please say it's your shirt…"

"No, you goof!" Tracey looked at me under her lashes for a moment. Her hands moved to her neckline. "If I open a button while I tell you my true confession, will you listen better or not at all?"

"Better, I promise!" Hers wouldn't be the first cleavage I'd seen but it was very nice and it had been a while and that's two buttons down and she's not wearing a bra!

"Harry. Harry! You're not listening."

"Um, no. Sorry. I was memorizing."

Tracey snorted. That wasn't ladylike enough so she switched to a giggle.

"Harry, I had a crush on you for years. I think it started during the Triwizard Tournament when you rescued that little girl. Then after you killed You-Know-Who it came back full storm."

"That's perfectly understandable. Harry Potter, rescuer of fair maidens, vanquisher of dark lords, and swinging sex god, that's me."

"Yes, Mr Modest." Tracey poked me in the ribs. I responded with a wandless tickling charm, she retaliated with tickling fingers, and we wound up on the couch ten minutes later with puffy lips and more buttons undone.

"So, you were saying about your crush?"

"Oh, there's not much more to it. I bought one of your posters and a plushie. I just wanted to tell you, so you wouldn't think I was a stalker like Weasley."

"I'd kind of figured it out, between the Harry Potter bedtime stories and the Harry Potter poster. But really, over your bed? I'd never have guessed. I wonder if we can put Natalie in as a spy with some of our enemies."

"She wouldn't get any useful information, just embarrassing stories."

"Haha. And you want to talk about creepy stalkers? In our sixth year Slughorn warned me that some of the girls had been asking him about love potions and lust potions and I don't know what else. He warned me to vanish all of my hairs and fingernail clippings and even to scourgify glasses and silverware I'd used, before I let them out of my sight. And to get checked for potions at least once a month. And even though I was careful I got caught twice each semester in sixth year."

"How many times was it Weasley?"

"None, actually. I was extra careful around her because her mother told her and Hermione the very funny story of how she dosed Mr Weasley with love potions in school. Great story to tell the kids, huh? 'You wouldn't have been born if I hadn't illegally drugged your father.'"

**...oooOOOooo...**

Mister Davis arrived for supper in a foul mood. If I were the betting type, I'd bet his colleagues were trying to cheat him or take advantage of the crisis at the expense of everyone else.

And I've have lost that bet. Well, sort of.

"Those bastards! Miserable, stupid fools! Are they _trying_ to destroy every damned thing?"

"Language, Dear." I was glad Marie said that. Natalie was staring wide-eyed at her father. "What went wrong?"

"The ministry. Of course. Ministry Decree 1998-0094 says that in order to prevent unscrupulous businessmen from taking advantage of the crisis at the expense of everyone else" – did I call it, or what? – "merchants will not be allowed to sell for more than they paid for any item without ministry approval. Decree 0095 says that all businesses dealing with the ministry or the public will need a new ministry license to operate. You're properly cynical, Mr Potter. Can you guess who approves the licenses?"

"Leading businessmen. Meaning rich purebloods with ties to the ministry or Wizengamot."

"Correct. They want to go back to the days of crown-granted monopolies, but covering all businesses."

That's not the only old-style thing they're trying. Not selling at a profit was a law from the French Revolution. Same justification, too. It led to black markets and high prices and shortages and executions. Don't these idiots know any history? No, of course not. If they went to Hogwarts in the past century, they had Binns and never learned anything useful. The only reason I knew was because of the World History course Hermione and I took.

"How does this affect our market? Will the other shopkeepers stay away?"

"They can't. Everyone is hanging on by a thread as it is. They have the choice of breaking the law or losing everything. They'll be there. But we'll have to plan for the ministry to come and break it up and arrest the ringleaders. That's you, Harry."

No problem. I'd already been thinking about new and improved defenses. I would resume wearing armor under my clothes. It was uncomfortable and inconvenient, so I'd stopped after beating Voldie but it seemed I had new enemies to replace the old.

The ministry didn't know where I lived any closer than "somewhere in Great Britain". That was technically a violation, but one which many rich purebloods committed. The ministry said we need to register our addresses for our protection, in case of trouble. I believed that rationale as much as I believed anything else coming out of the ministry. Similarly, my floo location was unknown. It had been set up before the latest round of increased monitoring of magical subjects. In theory DMLE could unseal the document giving my floo address and send someone to arrest me. In practice it would take a suicidal officer to make the trip. The Blacks _did_ have quite the reputation. I'd turned down the protection from "no survivors" to buffeting travellers around as if they were caught in a stampede and shunting them to one of the cells in the sub-basement. Which reminded me, I ought to check to see if anyone was caught recently.

Mr Davis had continued to vent while I mused. He was talking about how businesses work. In order to stay in business, they had to sell at a profit. There were complications regarding economy of scale, loss leaders, and monopoly, but that's what it came down to. I was vaguely familiar with all of this from my studies but it was interesting to hear it from the a small businessman rather than from an economics textbook. The viewpoints were certainly different.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The next day was a repeat: stiff and sore, put on display, make portkeys, play with Nat. The only real difference was that Tracey was out with her own duties all day so I didn't even get any smooch time. I was starting to get tired and short-tempered and fed up with all this. To be fair, all of the Davises were working just as hard. (But a little voice whispered, They don't have a choice. They're working to save their business and their family.)

The other difference was that one of the men I talked to had something amusing to tell me.

"Harry," – What was it with people thinking they were on a first-name basis with me? Just because they thought they knew all about me didn't make them my friends – "my brother works for the Ministry. DMLE heard about your food give-away the other day. Thank you for that, by the way. They came to seize the 'evidence' and arrest everyone involved, but they showed up too late. Just minutes too late, from what Robert tells me. And congratulations on your magic masking charms. They found almost no evidence of magic except for hundreds of apparition signatures." Probably because we weren't using magic. Not that I'd expect any properly-raised wizard to think of that. "There were so many that no one could be identified. They somehow knew you were involved and wanted evidence to arrest you. You'll need to be careful if you come across any law enforcement, Harry."

**...oooOOOooo...**

That night Tracey joined me again. This was a habit I could get used to. After being alone my entire life it was nice to spend so much time with someone. It was nice to get used to being touched without it being a punch.

We had gotten over our shyness with each other – after sleeping together for almost a week, how could we not have? – but Tracey still prepared for the night in her own room and then came to join me. We'd kiss and cuddle a bit and then … nothing. I fell asleep. Every blasted night I was so tired that, beautiful, cuddly, and willing witch or no beautiful, cuddly, and willing witch, I fell asleep.

Randiness and self-esteem issues aside, Tracey's teasing was starting to get to me. Tonight was going to be different if it killed me. I wasn't quite as tired and I'd drunk some tea before coming to bed.

Like every previous night, Tracey pushed open my not-quite-shut door and ghosted in. Unlike previous nights, I met her in a hug as soon as the door latched. When my hands drifted down to cup her derrière, her eyebrows shot up before she deepened our kiss. When my hands tugged open her dressing gown, Tracey asked me, "Do you have plans for the night, Harry? Because I like what I'm seeing so far." So did I. Her opened gown showed a lacy camisole and matching high-thigh briefs.

Rather than answer Tracey's question verbally, I gave her a growl from deep in my throat and picked her up bridal style. The wisdom of the ancients who invented the bridal carry came to me as her gown fell down and away from her chest, while that very impressive chest was placed right in my face.

What followed was as much fun as you can have with a beautiful, cuddly, and willing witch while you leave your bottoms clothed. Having reached that limit, I asked Tracey if she wanted to continue. She didn't answer, just lay there breathing hard with glazed eyes. Figuring that wasn't a No, I wormed out of my briefs, then leaned back over Tracey for more kisses.

But she wasn't kissing back. Did I do something wrong? She was breathing hard and her eyes were wild, but not in a good way. "Tracey?" That drew her attention to me. Her eyes came into focus on my face, then traveled down my torso. Her rapid breathing came to an abrupt halt before she let out a piercing "No!", kicked me as she scrambled off the bed, and fumbled with the door. By the time I half-pulled on a dressing gown, she was out of sight.

"Dobby! Find Tracey. Make sure she's all right, but don't get near her. Come find me when you're sure she's ok." I headed toward the parents' room. This was a "mom" problem if I ever heard of one.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I had a hard time getting to sleep after I explained the situation to Marie. Dobby got me some tea, then I sat back and thought about what a useless person I was. _Hero_. I might as well just go out and find bad guys to kill and things to destroy. Maybe there was another species that needed to be exterminated. I wasn't any good for anything else.

There was a knock on my door, and then Marie came in. I must not have pushed it all the way shut after I came back in.

"Harry, please don't be angry with Tracey. And by all means, don't blame yourself. You got caught up in something that happened to Tracey some time ago."

That matched a few hints over the past few days. I nodded but didn't say anything. Despite logic and Marie's assurances, I still felt terrible and didn't trust my voice.

"Tracey will explain it later, after she pulls herself together. Really, Harry, it's not your fault. She really likes you. And Robert and I know you would not hurt her. Try to get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. Things will work out, you'll see."

Marie left me to my thoughts. They weren't as gloomy as before, but nightmares woke me up several times during the night. The same as before I started sleeping with Tracey. Only worse.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I dragged through the morning lining up a security team for the market. We needed people to keep an eye out for minor disputes and petty thefts, for potential large-scale attempted robbery, and for attempted arrests by the ministry. And above all, people who would be courteous to law-abiding shoppers and merchants. A difficult needle to thread, especially given my distrust of anyone with DMLE experience. Even more difficult because at the moment I was tired and plagued with self-doubt.

We lucked out with the team leader that a colleague of the Davises. Until this week I'd never realized how useful it was to know people who know people. Before this, I'd had one or two close friends and we did everything ourselves. I learned young that I couldn't rely on authority figures, but maybe I'd over-learned the lesson.

In any event, William Smithson had over twenty years' experience in DMLE. He'd quit before I was born, disgusted with the politicization of the department and the uselessness of the efforts to fight Voldemort.

"Registering the names and addresses of all muggle-borns' family members was the final straw. No matter what Creeves – the old head of DMLE – what Creeves said, it wasn't for their protection. With all the killing and terrorizing going on, there was no chance an auror team would be send if there was an attack on muggles. All they were doing was making a nice list for the Death Eaters."

"So the purebloods were using the same tricks twenty years ago as they were last year. Wonderful. I think I know who the real enemies are."

"Careful now, Mr Potter. Not all purebloods are the same. Not all of us need to put everyone else down. I'm a pureblood, and so is Robert Davis. You'll make yourself some enemies if you lump us all together, and from what I hear you don't need any more."

It didn't seem right, being dressed down by someone I was thinking of hiring, but he made a good point. Last week my mouth was getting me in trouble with Tracey's parents. This week the damage might be greater, and not excused as an amusing slip of the tongue. Sure, I was tired and stressed and grouchy, but excuses don't get the job done.

"You're right. I'll work on that. But for what we need today, you told me what you used to do and why you left. What have you done since then?"

"I've taken it private. I consult with many wizarding businesses on security for their stores, provide bodyguards, provide courier service for valuables, and occasionally step in if crimes have been committed and DMLE won't get involved. On the muggle side I organize security for concerts and fairs and the like."

Jackpot! Exactly what I needed. I needed to thank the Davises' friend. I'd never have found Smithson on my own.

"You're hired. Do you have enough people? If you need more, I have a list of people I'd like you to interview. You make the call on whether they'll do, but I'm trying to help them find work until things pick up."

We covered a few administrative matters such as the size of the event and the security budget, then one more item. I'd made a device to aid with security. Dead simple to use. I'd leave it to his discretion when and how to use them at the market.

"These are a little hard to make. I can get about twenty to you by tomorrow evening. I'll get someone to bring them – I'll be too tired to apparate if I do that many. Think about how you want to use them and let me know if twenty will be enough. Oh, and if you're curious about how it works, _don't_ take it apart. It'll blow your hand off." That was a complete lie, but I hadn't thought about booby traps when I made the first one. I wanted to keep a few of my tricks to myself. The batch I made today would self-destruct if opened.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"I'm sorry." We said it at the same time the first time we saw each other that day. I was louder so I went first.

"I'm sorry I pushed you too far last night. I won't do it again."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry. I was pushing you just as much. I'm sorry I ran off. I wasn't teasing you, honest."

"So what happened?"

"The only other time I saw a man naked was my old boyfriend. We were kissing and a bit more and he lost control and pulled my clothes off before I was ready. When your shorts came off I had a flashback."

"You don't just mean he went too fast, do you? He raped you."

"You might say that."

I thought about this for a moment, wondering what I could do. Emotional support, I supposed. But I was lousy at that. Vengeance was more in line with my talents.

Tracey watched me thinking. "You'll kill him if you find out who he is, won't you?"

I shrugged. I wouldn't set out to assassinate him, but he might not live past the first "suspicious move".

"Really, Harry, he's not a bad guy. He just lost control. Please don't do anything to him."

"It's ok. You were the one who was hurt, so it's your call. Besides, you could even say it was your fault."

"What!"

"You are one seriously sexy young lady, Tracey Davis. No man can resist you."

"Harry, you're a jerk. That's not something you say to a woman who's been – who's had something like this happen. I know you meant well, but don't say that.

"And besides, some men can resist my irresistible sexiness. You've been sleeping with me every night for a week, but it took you until last night to put the move on me. What is it? Great self control? I'm not as sexy as you say? Mrs Green was right about you?"

"What!"

"What am I supposed to think? If you don't even try to cop a feel at night, then I might as well sleep in my own room."

"No! I need you. Please stay." I leered at her. "I can grope you in my sleep if that's what you want." I moved closer for a hug, which she seemed to welcome.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. You told me something painful and I made a joke of it. Let me make it up to you by telling you something painful about me."

"Your whole life has been painful, Harry, what I've heard of it. If this is painful compared to all the rest, I don't think I can take it."

"It's not much worse than the rest." Oddly, that didn't seem to allay her concerns. "You know how, my last year at school, your sixth year, there were all those rumors of me being seen with different girls in broom closets and back hallways? And some of the girls denied them and some of them said they were true? They were all lies."

"I knew they couldn't all be true. Amazing Boy-Who-Lived or not, you'd have needed a time turner to be everywhere they said you were. Er, you don't have one, do you?"

"No. The rumors were started by my real girlfriend. She wanted enough stories going around that if anyone caught us and told about it, it would be just another rumor. It worked pretty well. Though it turned out we didn't need it. We were careful and were never caught."

Tracey thought it over. "Granger, right? She's practically the only girl in the upper four years that there weren't rumors about. Other than Parkinson, and I can't see you taking Draco's leavings. Or was it a girl from one of the younger years? How about it, Harry, got a taste for the young stuff?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, and thank you for your faith in my upstanding character. Yes, it was Hermione. We spent a lot of time together, studying for our muggle A Levels and thinking about ways to kill Voldemort and get back at my relatives and fix wizarding society. And somewhere in there we fell in love. Realized we'd loved each other for years, really.

"So we danced around for a little while, then realized it was dumb to put things off because we could be killed any day. So in early June we finally made love and it was clumsy and embarrassing and we couldn't wait for more."

"And early June was the Hogsmeade attack."

"And early June was the Hogsmeade attack. We'd all gone down to the village. Hermione and I told Ron we were together and he didn't take it well. He was working his way up to a Weasley tantrum when the Death Eaters attacked."

"And Death Eaters killed Granger in that attack."

"And Ron Weasley killed Hermione in that attack. It was Ron's wand, there was no doubt about it. Ron swore up and down it was an accident, that Hermione dodged the wrong way, but I always wondered. There was the news we'd just told him, plus he didn't seem broken up about it enough afterward.

"So we had a screaming fight and it took Dumbledore to break it up. After that, none of the Weasleys want anything to do with me, and the feeling is mutual.

"So I guess we're both in pretty sorry shape when it comes to our sex lives, aren't we?"

"Oh, my poor Harry. You had it worse than I did. I still have a little guilt and self-doubt from my date gone bad, wondering what I should have done differently and how much was my fault. You must be tearing yourself apart, wondering if you hadn't told Weasley, would Granger still be alive."

"Not helping, Tracey." It was kind of funny that she was almost as maladroit as I. Our kids would need great dental insurance, with all the teeth that would be getting punched out. "Really, I'm mostly ok with what happened. My part in it, I mean. Hermione and I would have had to tell Weasley at some point, and it wasn't our fault he was so immature and jealous. And if he didn't mean to hex Hermione from behind, well, it was a battle and these things happen. Really, I'm ok, and this is only a little bit of my nightmares."

Tracey looked at me doubtfully for a minute before drawing the hug tighter. She didn't seem much better at offering comfort than I was. Maybe that's because of years in Slytherin House under Snivellus, or maybe because she had a loving family and had never needed that much comforting.

"Why don't we drop this for now? We've still got a million things to do."

"You're right. Just one more thing. Tracey, will you please sleep with me tonight? Clothes on, clothes off, it's your call. But I'm happier and sleep better when you're with me."

"Of course, Harry. Let me fix my face and we'll get back to work."

She'd been crying. I hadn't even noticed. I didn't know what to do, so I returned to making portkeys and changing the wards.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Tracey and I actually had time for some pillow talk that night before passing out. We were both fully clothed. The hands under the tops made that at least half pointless, but for the record we were both fully clothed.

"Harry? Why is Ron Weasley still alive?"

"Does it really matter? It's in the past and law enforcement cleared him, even if it was because of his family and Hermione being just a worthless mudblood. If I went after him now, it would be cold blooded murder and I've never done that."

"It might matter. You still have enemies. And people who don't like what you're doing. Even if they're not hexing you every day, they're out there. And some of them, if they can get at you through your friends, or your girlfriend, they will. If you'd killed the man who killed your last girlfriend, I'd feel – I mean, they might not do it."

Killing Weasley to make a point to potential killers and kidnappers. I liked the sound of that…

"Are you my girlfriend, Tracey?"

"Mmmmaybe. I don't want to be hurt, Harry. By you or by your enemies."

"I won't hurt you on purpose. I promise. And I can give you a portkey like the one I wear. But I don't know if I can have a real girlfriend. I've been betrayed by everyone I trusted and it's going to take me a long time to really trust anyone."

Apparently that wasn't what Tracey wanted to hear. She removed my hand from inside her shirt and turned her back on me. She didn't leave the room, though. Maybe all hope wasn't lost.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I won't lie to you. This is all I can give you now.

"But I'll tell you this: over the past couple days I've wondered what our kids would be like." She stiffened. "And I haven't left the country yet. Maybe it's not enough, but it's all I have, Tracey."

It was enough. Our clothes stayed on that night, but we fell asleep comfortably twisted around each other.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Two days before the market, I still had a lot on my plate. Most of the arrangements had been made by this point, but we were still contacting some more merchants and other businesses to offer loans and a space in the market. I had to make the boxes for Smithson's security team. There was a lot of last-minute coordination, too. The floo was _still_ down and owls were too slow for the number of messages being passed, so yours truly was drafted. If I needed a career after all this, I could set up a magical telegram service. Maybe deliver packages, too, though if I invented the candy-gram they probably wouldn't even give me credit for it.

By lunchtime, I was moving pretty slowly. Apparating so many times a day for a whole week, and making portkeys on top of that, leaves you magically drained and physically sore. That is, it leaves me tired and sore. Most magical humans wouldn't be able to do it so many times and would likely kill themselves if they tried. Yet another aspect of "the power he knows not", put to use for parcel post.

In any event, Marie and Grammy noticed that I wasn't doing too well and told me to take it easy the rest of the day. "Easy" in this case meant taking care of Natalie. We had too much to do to have someone sitting around doing nothing. Possibly we could have hired someone to watch Nat and help with meals, what with Dobby being even busier than the rest of us. There was the little problem of me having to trust them enough to let them into my house, but I'm sure we could have found someone…if anyone had thought of it. We'd all been too busy to think of how to do things faster or easier. There was a saying, something about alligators and swamps.

While I was pushing Natalie on a swing in the back yard, Tracey apparated in. She looked worse than I felt. She'd been trying to keep up with me. Trying to show she could carry her weight, I think. It was a foolish gesture. Pardon the ego, but I have more magical power than almost anyone. And pardon the self pity, but I've had to develop a higher tolerance for pain than almost anyone.

Marie took one look at Tracey, gave her a pain potion, and told her not to use magic for the rest of the day.

We needed groceries – Again! I couldn't believe how much seven busy people ate compared to two. – so I escorted the younger Davis ladies on a nice walk into town. We'd see the sights, such as they were, then grab the grub on the way back.

Our first stop, by popular demand, was a small restaurant. They had a few outdoor tables on a patio, so I suppose it was a café, but in deference to English weather the tables all had large umbrellas. The reason for stopping here shortly after lunch was the large sign on the sidewalk. Natalie had grabbed my ears as I carried her on my shoulders and turned my head that way while shouting "Ice Cream! Ice Cream!" I didn't even know she could read yet, but apparently she recognized the important words.

The ladies' orders having been placed and filled, the owner came out to chat. I didn't know him beyond waving if I passed by. Apparently he knew me.

"Tell me, Mr Potter, does your young man at home know you've been spending time with this fine young lady? It's not my place to judge what makes a man happy, but I can tell you that sneaking around is a sure path to misery."

Tracey's float fountained into her face as she guffawed into her straw. Natalie had been too busy with her three scoops – raspberry, chocolate, and coffee, of all unholy combinations – to listen but shrieked with laughter at Tracey's new look.

"Mister, er, what's your name? Mister Wilson, that whole rumor got started because of a misunderstanding, and it seems to have spread all over town."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Harry," my helpful friend put in. "From what you said the other day, I think you stuck your foot in your mouth all by yourself."

"Yes, Tracey, thank you, Tracey. Mr Wilson, I don't have a boyfriend. I've never had a boyfriend. I don't want a boyfriend. A girlfriend suits me just fine."

"Tracey sleeps with Harry every night! Just like Mommy and Daddy."

With this helpful comment making an awkward end to the conversation as well as marking the end of the ice cream, we soon left to see more of the village.

The next place that caught our eye was a wearable junk shop, for lack of a better description. It had uselessly small purses, belts and scarves, buttons with "funny" sayings, and so on. Even glittery plastic "princess" tiaras. This took up only one wall of the shop, but it had a lot of pink and really caught the eye. Both girls were drawn in like moths to a flame.

"Hello, Harry, how are you doing?" Anna, the proprietor, asked. I knew her slightly, having talked in the Greens' grocery store a few times. She was in her late twenties and quite pretty and fashionable in a trying-too-hard-to-hang-on-to-her-youth way. "Are you shopping for your friends or for yourself I don't think I have anything that suits your hair and eyes but if you want to make a statement that you're comfortable with who you are you can't go wrong with a tiara a princess tiara says 'I may not be a queen but baby watch out."

She got that out in one breath: very impressive. She was calling me gay: very annoying.

Tracey was practically guffawing out her ears as she pressed her hands over her nose and mouth: ok, I could kind of see the humor in this.

"Tracey, when I'm better dressed than you and all the boys are after me, promise you won't be jealous?"

"You bet, Harry. Maybe we can do each other's hair." Tracey couldn't keep it together any longer and collapsed against me. Natalie had no idea what was so funny, but laughed because her sister was.

"Anna, why on earth would you think I wanted a tiara?"

"Everyone says you're, um, that way, Harry." She had edited what she was going to say to suit the juvenile audience. Good thing. I was feeling protective. I couldn't figure out why everyone, even her parents, was talking about adult topics around a child, but it was getting on my nerves.

"No, Anna. I'm not. Who started that rumor and how can I stop it? And why does anyone care, anyway?"

"I don't know where it started. Everyone's saying it. And why wouldn't they? Small town, not much news. Then a rich, single, young man arrives and is not bad looking but seems to not be in the market. And as for stopping it, a date or two might do it."

Was she coming on to me, right in front of my very attractive sort-of girlfriend?

Tracey's giggles dropped in an instant. "Sorry to tell you, Anna, but Harry is in the market but off the market," she growled, marking her territory by digging her claws into me. Point those at the other kitty, Kitty. That hurts!

"Oh, it doesn't have to be a date with me," Anna backtracked. "I'm sure you're good enough for that."

My God, Anna must have a death wish. I held Tracey's hand in case she grabbed for her wand. She gritted her teeth around something that sounded like "spinsters chasing my boyfriend" before suggesting, "Nat, Harry, let's get out of here. I'm afraid that if we stay any longer I'll get old and desperate, too."

Bloodshed having been postponed, we three looked for something relaxing and fun. There weren't many options here in Tinytown. I lived here for the quiet, after all.

We ended up just walking around for an hour, returning waves but not risking any more conversations with the locals. "Walking" meant Tracey walking under her own power but Natalie clinging to me most of the time: riding piggyback, clambering back up on my shoulders, riding on one hip so we could have face-to-face chats, and anything else you can think of. The ice cream gave her the energy to climb all over me like a monkey. Too bad it didn't give her the energy to use her feet in any productive fashion.

"Oh! Be careful there, Squirt. Don't kick Harry there. I have plans for that."

After an eye gouge and another low blow, both accidental, I declared the walk over and proceeded directly to the grocery store. The afternoon was a mixed success. I wasn't much less stressed, but coffee at the café had given me a boost and I had some acute pains to take my mind off my overall soreness.

The evening brought news that there had been a rash of strange home burglaries all across Britain. In every case food was stolen but the valuables were untouched. There was never a sign of forced entry and the homeowners never remembered seeing anything, though home security systems were set off.

It seemed that the food distribution didn't reach everyone, or wasn't enough. And it seemed that the market was coming just in time. I hoped it was enough. Wizarding Britain didn't need to have non-magical Britain looking for them on top of the other troubles.

**...oooOOOooo...**

After breakfast I apparated over to the market site in order to set muggle-repelling and notice-me-not charms. This wasn't going to be a permanent market and thus wasn't worth the time and expense of setting wards. Besides, we didn't want to keep the owner off of his own land. Charms were the way to go. They would last only about two days at most, no matter how much I exhausted myself on them, which was why I was doing it so late.

One of my hired security men disillusioned himself to greet me. "All quiet, Mr Potter. About six shopkeepers came by to check their portkey coordinates or to check that everything was ready."

That last seemed a waste of time. The field had deliberately been left untouched until I got the charms up. This afternoon a crew would take care of the "common" areas. It would be up to the merchants to set up their own booths. If the shopkeepers had waited a few hours, they'd be able to see some progress or get started early themselves, but right now there was nothing to see.

"Do you have everything you need? Your shift isn't too long?"

"Don't you worry about that, Mr Potter. Mr Smithson, he put twenty years in DMLE. He knows all there is to know about setting a watch. Us grunts, we don't have all that but he's taking care of us. And I want to say, just from me, thank you for hiring me, Mr Potter. I've got a wife to provide for, and there's been nothing coming in and nothing to buy for a week, and things were rocky before that. That food packet, it kept us eating, and this two days' pay lets me pay my rent for the month and let my wife do a little shopping at the market. So thank you again, Sir."

"I'm glad to help. Make sure that Smithson knows how to reach you. No promises, but I'm hoping to have more work soon."

What followed was not much of a challenge in terms of magical skill but quite a feat in terms of magical effort. I needed a circle a quarter mile across, more if I could manage it. Normally a wizard casting a notice-me-not charm makes a circular ring big enough to cover a few people or maybe a small room. Notice-me-not charms interfere with each other, so a set of overlapping charms covering the entire area will have a lot of dead zones where things can be noticed from the outside. Fortunately, muggle-repelling charms can be laid in a ring surrounding the protected area, so I needed to exhaust myself on only one really big charm.

When it was all done, the security man – Carson? Carlson? My mind was fuzzy – helped me stand up and guided me to trigger my portkey home. I went to bed right away.

**...oooOOOooo...**

After I caught a nap and lunch, Mr Davis made sure to catch me.

"Mr Potter, if this is a convenient time, could we talk in private?"

I nodded and led him to my den. He looked around a bit. There were some interesting knick-knacks. None of the Davises had seen this room before. It was one of the protected rooms which only I could enter unescorted.

I offered him brandy. From what little I knew of "polite" behavior, the seriousness of the conversation seems to call for it. Apparently this was the proper move. His eyebrows went up at the label on the bottle. I can't take any credit for the choice; the drinks cupboard had been stocked by the Blacks before I inherited the house and I hadn't touched it beyond checking for poison.

"Mr Potter, you do not understand most of the customs of the magical world. You were not raised here. I'm sure you have picked some up in school and perhaps you've read a book on the customs of Wizarding Britain, but that's not the same as understanding them. In many ways you don't know how we think.

"I want you to know, I do approve, both of you as a man and of you and Tracey being together." He waved his hand around, taking in the whole of my house. "You can obviously provide for her. I've been watching how you act around her, and around Natalie. Natalie adores you, of course. Her hero can do no wrong. But I see how you take time to play with her even when Tracey isn't watching. You're not just pretending to be a nice guy. Not like – ah, a former boyfriend. I shouldn't talk about him.

"I've also been putting the pressure on you. All fathers are protective of their daughters, the more so if the daughter is teenaged and pretty. It is hard to let go and accept it when they've grown up. But I'm not _that_ bad. At our first meeting, at our front door in Kent, I had been frightened for my daughter and when I saw she was safe, relief turned to anger. At you, because you were there. I apologize. You did not deserve that.

"However, after that, it was clear you were attracted to each other. I deliberately put on the pressure and acted the overprotective, unreasonable father. I wanted to see if you would be scared away, or would take her to bed immediately to show you weren't scared off, or would hide behind Natalie or Tracey. You did just fine, young man. If you need them, you have my apologies for how I've acted the past few days.

"If you wish to date my daughter, you have my blessings as well as Marie's. More formally, Mr Potter, you have my permission to court my daughter.

"I'm sure you both wish to continue to sleep together. I won't object. Just please don't flaunt it. I understand the world is changing, but I was raised with the older values. I want to be able to lie to myself that my daughter is following tradition."

**...oooOOOooo...**

I got in a bit of boyfriend time with Tracey on Market Day, but not much before Dobby rousted us out of bed. We'd gone to bed, and to sleep, very early last night, but it was still an ungodly time to have to get up. I couldn't even yell at him for this, as I'd asked him to make sure everyone was up in time.

That was ok. Tracey had managed to get a grip on, er, her fears and I had high hopes for the evening.

We all took one of my spare portkeys to the market field, Natalie screaming the whole way. I thought she was terrified, but "Again! Again!" as she tumbled away from the landing site suggested I should take her to an amusement park next week.

We bought breakfast from one of the vendors, partly to support the market, more to _visibly_ support the market, and even more to give Dobby a bit of a break. As busy and tired as the rest of us were, he was twice as much. He was working himself into the ground for a cause he didn't even support. He was working so hard because I wanted this to succeed. There's friendship for you.

Marie went to take care of the Davis booth while the other ladies got some more sleep in the back. Mr Davis, Dobby, and I were the problem-solving squad. The problems were non-stop for the three hours before the market's "doors" opened, and they were infinitely varied in their ridiculousness. "He set up in my spot!" "I brought the wrong color supports for my booth and now it looks wrong!" "I forgot to tell my wife where I'd be today!" These are the people I've been busting my butt to help? I tried to deal with the problems – with the people – with a smile on my face, really I did, but Mr Davis sent me back to check on the ladies before too long. Both he and Mr Smithson assured me that these problems were no more than the usual when you get a large group of people trying to do something. Maybe it's something like what Marie told me a week ago: most people aren't shrieking Boy-Who-Lived groupies, or utterly lacking in common sense, but you notice only the groupies and the fools.

To be fair to them, almost everyone I talked with thanked me for my part in getting the market going.

But still. If more of them had the common sense to be able to set up a booth for a country market, maybe society wouldn't have fallen to pieces when Gringotts was destroyed.

**...oooOOOooo...**

When we opened the gates, customers streamed in, mostly looking happy and excited. Good start! Many had coin in their pockets thanks to the business loans last week. There'd been a bit of commerce going on despite the ministry's stay-at-home order. Mr Davis was right: faced with starvation, even the most sheep-like people would disobey the ministry.

On that topic, much of the crowd headed straight for the food vendors, who had strategically been placed at the farthest point from the entrance.

Molly Weasley's voice cut through the crowd. I was too far away to make out words, but there was no mistaking the harridan's voice and tone. I headed for the trouble, waving a couple of large security men to come with me to make an intimidating presence. I'd put in too much work over the past week to allow Molly the Mouth to ruin it all.

"… you can't extend credit. My family has been a mainstay of society for four hundred years and my husband, Arthur, has a very important job with the ministry. Surely if you can sell to a young assistant shop keeper you can sell to me."

"If the assistant shop keeper has money in hand, of course we'll sell to her. If she came in demanding credit, I'd toss her out."

"Like anyone's strong enough to toss that lard ball anywhere," muttered one of my security guys. I couldn't stop my snort fast enough to avoid the lard ball's attention.

"There you are, Potter. I'd heard you were in the thick of things. Arthur told me you've been making loans to reputable families. I'll take one of those loans."

"You heard wrong. And even if I were making loans to reputable families, yours wouldn't qualify. And even if your family were reputable, you want me to stay away from you forever, remember? Maybe you've forgotten a year ago but I never will."

"That's no way to act, Potter. Harry, I mean. You know our family has always been there for you, treating you as one of our own, until you said those terrible things in the heat of the moment. We can put that all behind us now."

"Maybe I did say things in the heat of the moment. What's your excuse? 'You're a disgrace. It would be better if you had died.' I will never forgive that."

I ground my teeth for a moment. That betrayal unexpectedly still hurt. "And it doesn't matter. Here, today, the market is for people to buy things. If you don't have any money, you shouldn't be here. And if you cause trouble for the people who should be here, then you can be thrown out."

I had to shout that last bit to be heard over the Wrath of Weasley. She had quite the mouth on her. For all that she struck her children or soaped their mouths for any hint of naughty language, Molly was swearing up a storm.

A quick silencing spell stopped the tirade. And then a quick grab by one of the security team stopped her from belting me. I've grown some, but Molly Weasley still outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds and a punch in the head would have sent me flying.

A couple more first-year spells trussed up the pushy pauper and floated her behind me as I walked around the market, asking all of the merchants if they would be willing to extend credit to the Weasleys. Really, I was doing it for her benefit. Mending fences, you might say. It only _looked_ as if I were making sure that everyone could see her humiliation.

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley, but no one is willing to sell to you. We only have so much room in this field so I afraid you'll have to leave so we can fit in three or four other, normal people." Oh, that got her even madder! It's not nice, but I'll take whatever petty revenge I can against the entire family. "This portkey will take you, ah, someplace. Not here. Ta-ta! Don't hurry back!" You might wonder why I had a one-way portkey to the stage of a 24-hour gay nightclub in Monaco. My answer: you'll never know when you'll find a use for one.

Mr Davis pulled me aside to give a short lecture on the importance of appearing mature in public, but I wasn't listening. I had a huge backlog of aggravation to vent. If my venting didn't leave corpses, then no one had any real cause to complain.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Wandering around the market in the mid-afternoon, I saw lots of happy shoppers and lots of even happier but tired businessmen. Money and goods were changing hands, so I guess everything was good. A lot of the trade had been in food and other necessities, to the extent that the grocery vendors were out of stock by noon. Maybe the wizarding public had learned to think ahead a bit. That would be better than good.

Tracey, Grammy, and Natalie were doing their part to stimulate the economy. I'd given Tracey one of the thousand-galleon pouches. When her eyes widened, I told her to buy presents for Nat for being so cooperative all week and get something nice for herself and give the rest to Grammy for food and other sensible purchases. "But if you want to buy me a present, see if you can ditch the kid and the old lady and find some sexy sleepwear that looks good on you." Tracey blushed and swatted me on the arm – Victorian morals – but then pinched me on the rear and waggled her hips as she walked off.

I hadn't advertised my name as the one funding the market or loaning money to businesses, but it seemed that everyone seemed knew. With every step I took someone else would come up and thank me for pulling them through the last week. I tried to be gracious about the thanks and shake hands as indicated. That was sometimes embarrassing but not too bad. But the testimonies of how hard things were before I came along made me feel really awkward. I _do not want_ to be the Savior who makes everything better every time the people get themselves into trouble.

Mr Davis told me in passing that a few of the vendors had told him they'd already be able to repay their loans and still have money for expenses and more stock. If that was true, then my financing the restart of the economy had paid off big.

The Sirius Security members were getting lots of looks and some questions, probably because they were new and unknown. Their brassards were distinctive but not obtrusive like the bright red auror cloaks – I mean really, what genius came up with the idea of dressing Dark Wizard Hunters like St Nick? They were being polite to the questioners. Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Aaaaaand I spoke too soon. There must be some kind of magical jinx on that thought. I have a very powerful magical core, and so _every single time_ I think things are going well, some catastrophe hits immediately after.

The catastrophe of the day was the arrival of aurors, "lesser" DMLE coppers, and Ministry bureaucrats, a dozen and a half in all. I headed straight for the gang; I would inevitably be drawn into whatever trouble they were trying to make, so there was no point in putting it off. As I went, I flashed a signal to Smithson to get ready for trouble. It wasn't as if we hadn't expected this. In fact, it was a little surprising it took them so long to get here. The efficiency we expect of the Ministry, most likely.

"Welcome to the Super Saturday Magical Market. Are you here to shop for your families? I'm afraid we can't offer credit to ministry employees, but your gold is always welcome."

"We're here to–" one of the desk-jockeys started.

"Potter! We have a warrant for your arrest. Lay down your wand and come here quietly."

Wow, the aurors were after me. Did that make me an official Dark Wizard? I made a note to tell Tracey. Maybe she'd think dark wizards are sexy.

"Do you mind showing me this warrant before I drop my wand? And some proper identification for yourselves while you're at it. I don't recognize any of you. Maybe that's because you aurors were nowhere to be found when I was killing Voldemort." Cue the flinches. No wonder Wizarding Britain hung their hopes on a seventeen year old. Even their elite law enforcement are a bunch of cowards.

"No more of your lip, Potter. Now drop the wand and turn yourself in or it'll go hard on you." Mr Mouth, still unidentified, seemed mighty brave, facing down a teenager with five of his red-robed friends nearby. Too bad these elite dark wizard hunters weren't just a bit more elite. Maybe they'd have noticed that they were being surrounded by not only the beginnings of an angry mob but by a few wizards in distinctive brassards.

"Mr Potter, we are here because this is an illegal gathering, in opposition to Ministry Decree 1998-0074. Are you in charge of this gathering?" I'll give the one bureaucrat credit, his self-assurance let him talk right over Mr Mouth.

"Not exactly. I helped to arrange it, but it's not mine." I needed to delay the confrontation a bit. Not enough of my security wizards were around us yet, and the merchants and shoppers needed time to clear out in case Plan A didn't work.

"As the _arranger_, you will have to answer for this gathering. This gathering is plainly in violation of the law and you have admitted responsibility. Under Ministry Decree 1998-0071, 'Extraordinary Powers for the Financial Crisis', we are authorized to detain you at the Minister's pleasure."

"You're a lawyer, aren't you?" I hate lawyers. Magical British lawyers, at any rate. "I've never seen either of those so-called decrees. The _Prophet_ has stopped delivery and the public isn't allowed into the ministry building. Unless you have a copy of these decrees, I'll take it that you're just making stuff up as you go. And I still haven't seen a copy of this so-called warrant, either. What's the matter, Red? Didn't the lawyer types trust you to carry your own paperwork?" Maybe I could get them fighting each other.

No such luck. "Potter! You're under arrest! Down on the ground, now!" "Potter, you are only compounding your crimes. Under Ministry Decree 1998-0077, 'Cost Saving Measures', ministry decrees are not copied in order to save on parchment." It looks like a career in diplomacy is not in my future.

The aurors looked ready to start shooting while their boss kept yelling at me. The lead desk jockey was still babbling. The other desk jockeys were hiding behind the regular coppers. None of them were paying any attention to anyone but little old me. I think the only reason they were shouting and not shooting was the wand in my hand. Have I mentioned my opinion of ministry personnel, especially aurors?

The Mexican Standoff was not a problem. By now, all of the Sirius Security men were in place around us, rune boxes out. Bystanders had been moved outside the ring.

"You're determined to arrest me on trumped up charges, are you? There's nothing I can do to get you to set this aside and maybe do a little shopping?" So be it. "Smithson, do it."

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Uh!" I sat up in bed suddenly.

"It's ok, Harry. I just woke you up. The healer said that if you didn't wake up on your own by midnight we should _enervate_ you. I got the duty."

"How long was I out? Never mind, you said midnight. Nine or ten hours, right?" The afternoon came back to me. "Is everyone all right? Natalie and Grammy and your parents got away? And everyone else?"

"Everyone's fine. Your plan worked perfectly. The aurors and the rest were all stunned. Daddy supervised clearing everyone out of the market before they woke up. Dobby insisted on triggering your portkey himself. Daddy says he popped in as soon as you were hit and caught you before you hit the ground. You have a great friend there, Harry." I nodded agreement. I'd have to think of some way to thank Dobby as a friend and not as an employer.

"Harry? Why didn't you tell me you had an escape plan? I was so scared when all of those stunners went off."

"I forgot. We've both been busy. But it wouldn't have mattered. You had to keep Natalie and Grammy away. It wouldn't be safe for either of them to be anywhere near a stunner ring. Nat's a little girl and Grammy is, well, old. Not to mention whatever the aurors might have done. Loose cannons, every one."

Tracey looked at me strangely. "Family is everything, Harry. _Everything_. I'll do anything to help my family. And you're doing more for my family than I can."

Her thank-you kiss was very welcome. And the downward-drifting hug made me realize something.

"Tracey? Why am I naked?"

"I had to check that you weren't hurt when you fell down. You might have broken something or gotten a bruise."

"You said Dobby caught me before I hit the ground."

"Right. But I had to make sure your clothes weren't too tight. You were hit with a lot of stunners and too many clothes could keep you from breathing."

"You had to take off my pants so I could breathe?" Tracey nodded, but didn't seem too sure of herself. "Are you sure you weren't just catching a cheap peek? Since you were peeking at me, isn't it fair I get to peek at you?"

Tracey didn't nod or say anything, but kissed me tenderly and set aside her wand before slooooowly disrobing. She was even more beautiful than I remembered from a few nights ago.

I reached for the light control.

Fade to black. My private affairs are private.

**...oooOOOooo...**

My door opened in the morning at a most inconvenient time. We'd gotten a little sleep last night, punctuated by in-depth, interpersonal interactions with each other's naked body. When Dobby and Tracey's parents stared at us from the doorway, we were interacting.

I quickly flipped up a corner of the sheet to hide most of Tracey's girly parts from the doorway. "Dobby," I growled as threateningly as I could manage, "you'd better have a good reason for barging in here. A very good reason. A world-is-coming-to-an-end reason."

"Excuse me, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir, but we was all very worried. We heard thumping and screaming coming from your room all night. Dobby wanted to make sure potentially wicked Racey Davis wasn't attacking the Great Harry Potter Sir. And Harry Potter Sir's Racey's mother wanted to make sure sweet innocent Racey wasn't hurt by the extremely vigorous and potent Great Harry Potter Sir."

Tracey must have been listening even as she maintained her rhythm because she giggled. "Don't worry, Mum. Harry is exactly as vigorous and potent as I want. Now go away!"

As everyone left the doorway I heard Mr Davis moaning, "We'd better not interrupt them in the mornings any more. She didn't even slow down. I want to keep my illusion that my daughter is sweet and innocent. Modest, too."

* * *

**Author's Note**: A common comment on Chapter 1 was that the atomic bomb was over the top. Oh, puh-lease. I can't be the only person who, if I had a nuke of my very own, would be wondering not whether to use it, but where to use it. Within the story, I wanted a way to kill almost all of the goblins and render the vaults unavailable or unusable. A biological weapon, a super!Harry magical blast, a nuke, or a deus ex machina device were all that came to mind. Hmm. That might make a good series of drabbles. The Great Goblin Kill-off: plausible methods of extinction.


	3. Bank

**Modest, Too**

**Chapter 3: Bank**

Hunger eventually drove us from my room. I'd tried calling Dobby for room service, but it looked like the morning's threats were keeping him away.

Tracey's parents ran into us in the kitchen while they were getting tea and a snack for themselves. Mr Davis grimaced at us. I don't know whether that was disapproval of our obviously having gotten much closer or simply upset at seeing his daughter naked. Well, tough. If he didn't want to see his daughter naked he shouldn't have barged into our room. And if it was disapproval then I call hypocrisy: I suspect they'd spent the night just like Tracey and me. The Davises were smiling at each other a lot and touching more than is proper for old people.

(Sure, they're not _that_ old, but they were old enough to be my parents, which makes them too old to be doing that.)

"Good morning, everyone."

"'Good afternoon,' you mean. You two must have worn yourselves out."

"Er…" I wasn't quite sure of the proper response, what with my girlfriend and her father being right here and her mother being the one asking the question. I tried to think of some subtle way to take the heat off.

"Oh, yes, Mum. Harry about split me in two. He really made it up to me for falling asleep every night for the past week."

Or we could just skip right on past "subtle".

"Is there anything left from lunch? Or breakfast?" I could cook something up if I had to, but I'd rather grab something and get back to bed.

"It's all gone, Dear. Why don't you see what's in the pantry? I'd send Tracey, but she's walking a bit bow-legged." Mr Davis grimaced again, but it was directed at his wife rather than at Tracey or me.

While I cooked up a filling meal for two hungry teens, plus a bit extra in case of moochers, I asked for news, about the market or anything else.

"It's been all good news so far. The market was an unqualified success. Some shops sold out the entire stock that they brought. I haven't gotten word from all of the businessmen so far, between having to leave abruptly yesterday and owls not being able to reach us here, but I stopped by our shop briefly this morning and caught up with a few people. Very good so far.

"There is much interest in another market as soon as next week. We'll have to arrange details. In particular, we'll have to keep an eye on the ministry. Their people got away yesterday. They probably had timed portkeys, as they disappeared without anyone noticing them waking up. Good job on your stunner boxes, by the way. Everyone from the ministry was stunned and no one in the crowd was hit, thanks to the shields. Back to the main point, the ministry people got away. They know you were there, in the thick of things, and they may have recognized others there."

Dobby popped in, fussed at me for cooking, and noodged me away from the counter. "Dobby would have been here in time to cook the Great Harry Potter Sir's lunch, but the Very Vigorous and Potent Harry Potter Sir's bedroom was a mess. Very stinky, too. Dobby cleaned it all so it's ready for youse to start again." Mr Davis choked on his tea even as Tracey buried her face in her hands.

Mr Davis resumed, "A few of the businesses can pay us back right now, and several more will be able to after one more market." I noticed the _us_ but didn't comment on it. "Oh, and a few wondered if I could introduce you to their daughters, with an eye toward possible business mergers. I told them I could arrange an introduction if you were interested." In an interesting turn-about from the usual, now Tracey was frowning, her mother was hiding her face in her hands, and Mr Davis just looked amused.

"Here is you's lunch, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir and Racey Davis. Youse will have plenty of energy to stink up your bedroom again." And now both of the Davis women were hiding their faces while Mr Davis growled.

"Everyone, I've worked myself to the bone for the past week. I'm taking a short vacation to rest up. Tracey, you've been working pretty hard, too. Would you like to join me? Dobby, send in food every few hours, please. Other than that, leave us alone. That means no barging in!"

True to my request, we were left to ourselves. Food appeared when we weren't looking, so it was almost like we were the only two people in the world. We certainly went through the motions of re-populating the planet all by ourselves.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Harry!" A three-and-a-half foot Harry-seeking missile hit me and bounced up into my arms moments after Tracey and I "returned" from our vacation. "Where were you? I didn't have anyone to play with!"

"Hello, Natalie. I missed you, too. And I'm sure Tracey did, too."

"Oh, yeah, hi, Tracey." I wondered at the cool greeting, but the answer came when Natalie turned the enthusiasm back on. "Mommy said you had to stay in bed the last two days and Tracey was taking care of you why couldn't I help I'm a big help you said so!" Nat was jealous of her big sister. How cute.

"Sorry, Nat. Tracey was helping me in a way you can't. You have to be a little older for that." Tracey poked me in the ribs. "At least ten years older. But I'm sorry you felt left out. How about we go out and play after breakfast?"

Tracey and I had walked out of my room with arms around waists and pressed up against each other. We couldn't continue to the kitchen like that because Natalie managed to squirm between us no matter where Tracey stood. And instead of sitting on my lap at the table she sat between Tracey and me. Her cuteness was wearing a bit thin.

There was actually some good news over breakfast. Somewhat good, anyway. It seemed the ministry was bowing to reality just a bit and had decided to relax the "stay at home" order for the magical populace and most people could travel without risking arrest on sight. Better yet, the ministry, in their benevolence, would even allow the weekly markets at least until Diagon Alley was usable again. The market organizers would need to pay for a license as well as hire "trained, professional" security through DMLE, but it was a start. Oh, and the ministry was still looking for the ringleaders of last week's illegal market. Par for the course.

While I pushed Nat on a swing, after conjuring a tarp to keep out the drizzle, I thought about a bunch of things. Tracey was one of the "things", of course, but only half of my thoughts were on her and what we'd been doing the last few days. Maybe three-quarters. I also thought about the ministry and what I should do about them trying to arrest me. And about the dozen and a half dopes who came to break up the market last week and what trouble they could cause. And about Tracey and what she might be doing right now.

Meanwhile, the ongoing market was none of my business. I had my own affairs to take care of. Including my education, which I'd let slip for months, what with Volde-bizarre, goblin bomb car, and wizard bazaar. And I had to do something about Dumble-czar, but so far hadn't had time to think about it.

After lunch I visited the correspondence-school people to get reinstated as a student. My tale of having to drop the last batch of courses because of being targeted by a terrorist, true though it was, didn't convince them, so I conjured up an authentic-looking statement from the London police. That and a semester's tuition convinced them of my sincerity. Looking at the pile of books in my study, I knew what I'd be doing for the next few months.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"That's an awful large haul there, Dobby." I had happened to come into the kitchen just as Dobby arrived from the latest grocery run before making supper. "And why on earth did you need so much bread?"

"Dobby has something to tell the Great Harry Potter Sir." He was nervous and cringing, like when we first met. "If the Great Harry Potter Sir will please follow Dobby?"

The trip to the basement got _me_ feeling nervous. Dobby led me to the hidden door to the cells. That tells you all you need to know about the Black family: their summer cottage had a dungeon.

A very full dungeon. It was designed to hold four, eight if they were well acquainted. It currently held a dozen battered men in the four cells. And there was a large, cloth-covered mound on the floor which wasn't there last time I was here.

"Potter! Let us out of here, you –" Good taste prevents me from transcribing what Mr Mouth from the market called me. Besides, I don't think I could do it justice without a pensieve.

"Dobby? What's going on here?" I had to cast several silencing spells so he could hear me over the cacophony that had come up. I didn't want to have to shout at my friend. He was reverting right in front of me to the abused slave I'd first met. And I was sure there was more to this than met the eye.

"Dobby brought the bad ministry men here after you was knocked asleep at the market. Dobby used the extra house portkeys and the bad men were put in the cells. Dobby has been feeding the bad men until you could see them."

All that made sense. The house's wards were a thing of beauty – I could admit that now that I'd finally figured out how to change them. They were "smart" enough to recognize that the Davises had been freely given a portkey and didn't mean me any harm and therefore let them into the entry hall. The group of ministry employees, even though they were unconscious at the time and even though Dobby had put the portkeys on them, were recognized as attackers and sent to the dungeon.

"I see what happened, Dobby, but I don't see why. Why did you bring them here? What makes you think I _want_ them?"

"Bad men tried to arrest the Great Harry Potter Sir and they tried to stop the Great Harry Potter Sir's market. And they would have just come back and attacked later if Dobby hadn't stopped them so Dobby had to stop them to save the Great Harry Potter Sir."

Again, that made sense, at least for a house elf. I think pretty highly of Dobby, but, let's face it, all house elves are simple-minded and insane by human standards. But of course elves aren't human. They think differently. They're perfectly capable but in the same situation a human and an elf will come to different conclusions.

And now it was time for me to come to some conclusions. The time pressure wasn't too great. Only Dobby and I would be coming to the dungeon, he could keep them fed, and the magic suppression in the cells would keep them from escaping or doing anything _rash_.

"Does anyone have immediate medical needs?" The wards would have banged them around a lot, probably broken bones. "Did everyone make it through the wards in one piece? Er…" I looked at the covered pile on the floor. There had been more than a dozen in the ministry group. "Dobby, is that the rest of them? What did you do?"

"Some of the bad mens was already dead, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir. Dobby brought them here with the rest and covered them until the Great Harry Potter Sir could tell Dobby what to do with them."

Looking under the tarp I saw it was the bodies of the older desk jockeys and coppers.

Twenty stun boxes threw out four hundred eighty stunners in an instant. All nineteen of us within the circle would have been hit by a handful each, maybe more, depending on how many missed and splatted into the shields made by the boxes on the other side of the circle. Those of us with armor or young, healthy hearts survived. These six hadn't. I'd known of the danger but told Smithson to go ahead anyway.

I was practically a cold-blooded murderer.

But the "victims" were the myrmidons of a tyrannical government.

I could live with it.

"Dobby. This is very important. Who saw you take the bad men? Does anyone know they're here?"

"No one saw Dobby, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir. Dobby remembers his lessons from bad Malfoys. Never be seen when working."

I relaxed. I had time to figure this out.

"Dobby, continue to feed them. It doesn't have to be just bread and water. Give them non-magical medical supplies if they ask for them. Don't tell anyone about this. Any questions?" It was best to make sure Dobby kept feeding them. Even though Dobby was "only" a friend and employee and not bound to me or the Potter or Black family, he would treat all threats to his family very harshly. It was simply the way house elves thought.

"What should I do with the dead bad men, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir?"

"We can't let them ever be found, Dobby. Never. Can you make the bodies disappear so there's no trace of what happened to them? No magical trace, no bodies to be found?"

"I can do. Do you want me to take their stuff?"

We arranged for where to store their stuff, then I left Dobby to his work.

I headed to my den. This needed a good think. Of course we couldn't just let them out and send them on their way. I didn't know how to obliviate and couldn't trust anyone to do it for me. I didn't have any Draught of Living Death, didn't have the skill to brew it, and couldn't be seen buying it. Maybe I could send Dobby for some, or buy some in disguise.

A little voice was whispering, Just kill them and have Dobby get rid of the bodies.

"What's on your mind, Harry?" I'd run into Tracey, literally, as I had pinched the bridge of my nose as I walked. "If you're thinking of what to get me for my birthday, you already missed it, but you can make it up to me any time you like."

"This is just a bit more important than that," I snapped. Then I came out of my funk and saw the expression on her face. "I'm sorry. This is a very bad problem. I can't tell you about it."

"Well, don't let me keep you from it." Her backside was nice to watch as she stomped off, but that was the only good to come of it.

The tapping at my door an hour or two later was Dobby. "Dead bad men is gone, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir. Dobby dropped them in a pig farm near bad Weasels' house."

Oh, that wasn't at all disturbing. I glanced at a brandy bottle, wondering if drunkenness was all it was cracked up to be. "And are the pigs on this farm butchered and sold locally? Give me the farmer's address. The Weasleys are getting half a hog as a surprise gift." Inflicting second-hand cannibalism on the family was nothing like what I'd idly dreamed of doing to them, but it was both funny and fitting.

I was finding humor in a horrible situation. I didn't know if that was a healthy coping mechanism or a sign I was cracking up.

"Oh, yes, Mister Great Harry Potter Sir! Dobby got pictures."

My nice, new coping mechanism couldn't cope with that. I had Dobby put his pictures in the locked store room along with the dead men's "stuff" and had him promise again never to speak of this to anyone.

The problem was as addressed as it could be for now. I hurried off to grovel to Tracey.

The day had started with my girlfriend and me wrapped around each other, both pleasantly tired and sore. It had rapidly taken a sharp dive downward. It's true: some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Over the next few days Dobby visited the shops of several potion vendors to buy a dozen doses of Draught of Living Death. I'd told him to avoid being recognized if he could manage it. His solution was ingenious. A Groucho Marx nose and mustache doesn't look any more natural on a house elf than on a human, but it certainly would keep anyone from identifying him.

It was a flat bust. He was not able to obtain even a single dose. Most shops were closed, and the few brewers or sellers Dobby could find were having trouble getting ingredients. And the few doses that _might_ be available weren't for sale to an anonymous elf. Draught of Living Death was a controlled potion, after all, and the sellers weren't going to risk the very harsh penalties for selling it against regulations.

It all comes back to the ministry. Even broken, flailing, and not doing anything useful, the Ministry of Magic was keeping me from doing what I needed to do.

On the other hand, wizards had an awful lot of ways to do harm and get away with it. Some kind of harsh penalties were needed to keep would-be wrongdoers in line. And that meant the full DMLE to investigate, and taxes to pay for it all. I needed to ponder this some more. I'd been thinking about destroying the ministry and killing everyone who came after me but maybe that wasn't a good idea.

During this time, two more of the prisoners died, one of his injuries. The other went into a seizure when I tried to obliviate his memory of the last few days. Dobby took them away.

Two more were going to die any day now. And all the rest were banged up, between the stunners and the house wards.

I couldn't keep them forever. Between the broken bones and the suppression of their magic, they were in pain and dying. I couldn't let them go. I couldn't transfigure them into bricks and stack them in the basement.

I valued my privacy and freedom more than I valued the lives of thugs and tyrants.

"Dobby!" I had him stash their stuff and dispose of the bodies. Those were going to be some well-fed pigs.

Tracey remarked on the nightmares that had started up again.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Apart from the mess with the prisoners, we all settled into a routine. I spent at least eight hours a day on my school work. Finishing this last set of courses would qualify me to take my A-level exams in the Spring. I wanted to attain this goal in Hermione's memory if for no other reason. Besides that, I kept an eye on my properties and collected rent, did magical workouts to keep in practice, and helped watch Natalie. And, of course, spent as much time as I could with my nice, new girlfriend.

"Mr Potter, thank you for having us as guests these past two weeks. I had planned to return to our own house right after the first market but I'm getting resistance from all quarters. Tracey has informed me she will be staying, though she will help us in our shop during the day. Natalie threw a tantrum and my mother commented that it was nice having you and Dobby help watch Natalie. And Marie observed that it is very convenient for her to cook only a third of the dinners after working all day. As a result I find myself asking, would you mind if we stay a bit longer?"

Chuckling, I told him they were welcome to remain. Sometimes I missed the quiet, but more often it was nice to have the noise and bustle. Of course, Natalie was responsible for most of that noise and bustle and I liked having her around. Perhaps if the floo was ever brought back up they could move back home and Grammy and Nat could come over during the day and Tracey and I could "break in" every room at night.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I had one other task before I could really focus on my schoolwork.

After problems needing my smiling face and winsome personality eased up a bit, I disappeared for a few days. I'd have invited Tracey to come along, but she was mad at me again for some reason that I didn't understand.

My quest started in Monaco. This was where Dobby began his vacation a few weeks ago. As long as I was here, I could pick up another portkey to a dubious location. Maybe a bondage and leather themed nightclub this time. Stocking up on emergency equipment is a task that is never done.

From that starting point it was just a matter of patience, persistence, and payoffs to find what, or rather whom, I was looking for. A day and a half after leaving on my not-so-epic quest I returned home.

"Dobby! I have someone here to see you."

Dobby popped in, his eyes grew even larger than normal, then he _prowled_ toward the elf who accompanied me home. The look on his face made me fear for _my_ virtue. Now I know what a horny, two-foot-tall, floppy-eared, bulgy-eyed tiger looks like. Some unspoken communication passed between them, then the new elf had been thrown over Dobby's shoulder and he was hurrying toward his room.

"Send in food every few hours, Harry. Other than that, leave us alone!" The door slammed, only to open an instant later. "And booze, too!"

Wide eyes and gaping mouths faced me. "She's the lady elf Dobby met on vacation. I thought he could use a little break after working so hard last week. Her family is all gone, so I talked her into coming with me." Grammy was covering Natalie's eyes, to much protestation. "Uh, Natalie, Dobby's really tired and needs to take a break. Just like I did last week. Don't worry about it."

This is as good a place as any to note that for the next four days we all had to take turns casting silencing and air-freshening charms all around Dobby's room. When the two made their grand reappearance, we found that Sukki had bonded to Dobby. I didn't even know that was possible, but then Dobby always was a bit different. And I took it as a sign of better times ahead, when my house elf had a house elf.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Soon after that the floo system came back up. Mighty gracious of our benevolent ministry, leaving it down for only a month. I didn't know if some rich purebloods were somehow benefiting from it being down, or if some ministry middle manager, promoted more for family connections than for competence, just forgot to turn it back on. Well, there might have been some technical reason, maybe relating to my Bomb.

The Davises moved home once the floo was running. As previously discussed, Grammy and Natalie spent most days at my house and Tracey spent most nights.

For Natalie's birthday, I took her and Grammy to the amusement park. Tracey would have come, but Marie was sick and Tracey was needed at the family shop. I had always thought that wizards almost never got sick because their magic kept them healthy, but it seems that they just have better medicine. Drink a potion at the first symptom and it made them well again immediately.

The amusement park was a blast, once I cut loose a little. Little Miss Adrenaline Junkie was used to the floo and portkeys and even (highly controlled and supervised) broom rides, so the gentle little trains and merry-go-rounds intended for short people were booooooring. I hadn't planned to subvert the park's safety measures, because I mostly agreed with them, but I couldn't withstand begging and whining and big, watery eyes. It worked out ok: mild confusion charms on the line attendants and sticking charms on Nat, and all was good. And safe. And exciting. And clean, once I used a few scouring charms after one too-exciting ride.

All in all, a success. I carried an exhausted little girl out of the park, with Grammy shushing her when she half woke up and demand to go back for more rides. We had to take a cab to a floo point as Grammy was too tired to apparate and her "old bones aren't up to one of your portkey rides, young man". Hmmph. That was the first complaint I'd heard about my portkeys.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Harry, could you do us a favor?" Marie was distressed about something. "Someone is trying to take over our shop. They've started to make threats."

I agreed to go and at least counteract the threats. I had two reasons for putting myself in the line of fire of someone else's enemies. Well, three. First, the people trying to take over or shut down the small businesses were annoying me. Despite everything I said and all of my reasons to leave Britain and let the wizarding world fall apart on its own, I couldn't let things just fall apart without trying to stop it. Especially now that more of Wizarding Britain had names and faces and many of those faces were small children.

My second reason was less lofty. Frankly, I was stressed and needed to vent. I wasn't getting laid as often as I had recently gotten used to and the pressure and aggravation had to go somewhere.

And the third reason was still less lofty. Tracey and I had been arguing or just getting annoyed with each other, and she wasn't sleeping over even half the time. Sex aside, I wanted a good night's sleep. Doing her family a favor was the best approach I could think of to get along better and thereby sleep better. Plus, of course, the sex.

The evening turned out better than I'd expected. The thugs who came a-calling had orders to bring the Davises to "Mr M" for a discussion and were all set to slap kidnap portkeys on them – portkeys that had sticking charms and which would activate when the flat side was pressed against something. These two clowns were trivially disposed of — no, not that way; I stunned them from behind as they stomped toward Marie, took all of the magical stuff off of them, and bound them with non-conjured ropes and chains and sacks over their heads — and then I had their return portkey. "Don't wait up!" I told the Davises. They didn't want to come on this raid, and I didn't want them, either. They couldn't help and would just get in the way.

Mulciber was in front of me. I was surprised. I'd half-expected to arrive at Malfoy Manor. "Hello, Death Eater," I said politely as I petrified him. "Expecting someone else?"

Now I had a slight problem. I'd planned to show a bit of fang, maybe break an arm or two.

But Mulciber was not your everyday would-be crime lord.

Death Eater. Murderer. Escapee from Azkaban. Any sane society would have executed him for their own safety if not for some vague sense of justice. But here he was, free to walk the streets.

"Dobby!" If I called, he could come to me anywhere, even through wards. Heck, for all I knew, there were no wards on the house. Nothing like on the Black Summer Cottage, that's for sure. If one of my enemies had tried the same trick I had, he'd be in the cells before he stopped spinning. (I was prepared to encounter wards like on my house. I always carried a pistol and explosives, so I should be able to fight or break out without magic.) "Dobby, I need you to find out if anyone else is in the building. Go as fast as you can and come back here."

My elf was back in a flash. It was just the three of us. Moments later it was just the two of us. We looted the house but there wasn't much beyond pocket change. Either Mulciber lost all of his money in Gringotts's collapse or he spent it all on bribes to stay out of Azkaban.

I'd killed Mulciber without thinking it through. He was a Death Eater, he hadn't repented, he was still a danger, he was dead. But now that I had a moment to think about it, I thought it was a mistake. The Davises knew I was going after "Mr M". The thugs hadn't seen me but knew Mr M was Mulciber. All in all, there was good chance I'd be identified as a murderer.

Don't get me wrong. I'm well aware that I murdered some of my prisoners, and arguably murdered all eighteen. I felt hardly any guilt because they had attacked me first with no good cause. And I felt no guilt over concealing my acts from the ministry and the public because there's a complete disconnect between justice and law enforcement. And the mob mentality, too. I'd be damned if I allowed the ministry which put me on trial for casting a patronus, or the mob which called me an attention-seeking psycho, to judge me here.

So, guilt and justice were not an issue, but getting away with killing Mulciber was. The Black family came to my aid again. The Grimmauld Place library described a corpse rotting curse which would make a body seem longer dead than it really had been. And this is the best part: the suggested uses for the curse included disguising the time of death to let a killer find an alibi.

Mulciber's four-days-dead body was taken to Diagon Alley where he would be found the next day — suspended by his left wrist with his Dark Mark hanging out. I took care of the final loose end, the kidnappers back at the Davises' shop. By the time I got to them they were awake but still paralyzed and tied up. One was loud, abusive, and threatening — could have been an auror, no doubt. The other was quiet and fearful.

"So you know the situation, Mulciber is dead, killed in his own home. I caught you trying to kidnap my friends. You are completely at my mercy. I don't especially want to kill you, but by this point I've killed so many men that two more won't bother me. Now, what can you tell me to convince me to let you live?"

They had nothing. Thug One kept up his threats even when helpless. I've seen that before. He learned as a child that bullying got him what he wanted and wasn't smart enough to try something else when the bullying didn't work. Thug Two immediately bowed to my superior force. I'd seen that, too: bullies who were either on top or on the bottom.

Either way, they had nothing I wanted. Ideally I'd turn the would-be kidnapers over to the police and be done with it. Here, there was no justice to be had. Even if the ministry weren't trying to arrest me already. Any justice would have to be at my hands.

I tried obliviating them. I got too much, but I was getting better: they lived. Despite what I told these two, killing did bother me. I'd do it, obviously, especially with Death Eaters or when someone got me angry, but it bothered me afterward.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Mommy! Mommy! Tracey wants to make a baby!" Natalie was tearing through the house yelling loudly enough that I could hear her from my sound-proofed study. "I want a baby, too! Mommy!"

I met up with Tracey as she hobbled after her sister, a pained look on her face. She'd been throwing up a lot and seemed very tired for the past few days, so she was staying with me so the elves and I could look after her. "I guess there's a story behind this?"

Tracey growled at me. "Ah, sorry, Harry. I'm not feeling good and now Natalie. Let me lean on you and we'll try to get Little Miss Motormouth under control."

Mr Davis was home for lunch. He looked over with a scowl. "I noticed you haven't kept your breakfast down for a few days, Tracey. And now Natalie has some interesting news. It seems that you two haven't been very careful. Do we need to have a serious discussion, Mr Potter?"

"Argh! Natalie! Daddy! Relax! It's just a flu. And I'm certainly not having a baby, as my monthlies are letting me know."

This whole thing had come from Natalie asking about the supplies Tracey was putting away in the bathroom between their two rooms. Tracey slept with me, of course, and usually used my bathroom, but she still nominally had her own room in deference to her father's preference, and she had been bashful about putting these items where I would see them. It hadn't come up before because most witches took a contraceptive potion that also stopped the "monthlies". But now both that potion and flu remedies were in short supply. Take a quickie explanation of female plumbing, add an excitable five year old and voila! Instant misunderstanding. If this were a sit-com we'd cue the laugh track. As it was, my throat was tingling where Mr Davis had been glaring at it. Accidental magic, maybe.

**...oooOOOooo...**

After about a month of the new routine, Mr Davis flooed over one evening to ask if I could meet with a group of his colleagues sometime soon.

I had a good guess what they wanted to talk to me about. Yep, money. The dozen men in the room took it in turns to explain the problem.

"Mr Potter, we need money. Not us specifically," the pudgy, elderly wizard hastened to explain, "but the wizarding world. There just isn't enough coin moving around to support trade, let alone build new houses and the like."

"The money you loaned to us, small businesses, was a great help in getting things going for a few weeks. But now we have a new problem. Much of the money that you leant us has been paid in rent by the shop owners, or else apartment rent by the employees. And the landlords are holding on to the gold and not paying much of it out."

"Hoarding, in a word."

"But it gets worse. The wealthy families are using the new galleons they're getting to buy up shares of our businesses, or start their own, or offer loans with harsh conditions."

"And it's even worse than that. Because of the 'increased oversight' over small businesses, most of us have a choice of paying bribes to the wealthy, connected families or working in the black market. Or just closing our doors."

"The Fudge family doesn't own much property, but even with Cornelius gone they have a great deal of political influence. They are preventing many of us from selling unless we give them part ownership of our family businesses."

"All this flows down to our families and employees and our own vendors. Everyone is feeling the pinch, even if we're not being directly extorted."

"And one more problem: With no Gringotts, we have to hold all of our money ourselves. Shops are being burglarized, or even robbed during the day. We're protecting our money as best we can, but none of us are professional warders."

"We've reported the crimes to the ministry, of course, but they claim there's little they can do. They are too understaffed to investigate because a goodly fraction of DMLE have gone missing."

"We aren't coming to you to solve all of our problems, Mr Potter," — Well, thank Goodness for that! — "but we were hoping you could help us with a few of the money issues. Robert here suggested that you'd be able to help, although he was unable to tell us how."

The pause in their pitch, suggesting I should tell them how I could help, gave me a moment to collect my thoughts. The issues of licensing and selective enforcement were beyond my reach. The wizarding government was large for the size of the British wizarding world and DMLE was by far the largest department. There was no way I could fight them all. Even if it was my problem, which it wasn't. I wasn't set on leaving Britain, but I wasn't set on staying, either. And while I was in the Black Summer Cottage I was virtually untouchable.

The same went for political influence and corruption and abuse of power. It was a nice daydream but I couldn't go in and kill everyone on the Wizengamot and all of their hidden backers and all of the corrupt bureaucrats.

Money, though. I could help with money. I had over a third of the million galleons I'd set aside, what with some of the loans having been repaid. And I could set up a protected storage area, using some ward schemes I'd picked up and some of my own inventions and hired staff.

"You need a bank, it sounds like." This was an interesting and fun and maybe profitable thing to think about. Much better than the research paper I had sitting on my desk: Trace the literary roots of James Joyce's _Ulysses_ with special emphasis on Homer's _Odyssey_. My resolve to qualify for A-levels, and to do well across the board, was taking a serious beating. "Three big questions before we can start planning. How do you want to set it up, just a replacement for Gringotts or something more modern? Who is going to own it and run it, me or a group? And what are you going to do about the ministry? You have to know they'll try to shut it down or take it over."

The first question revealed that none of the wizards in the room knew anything about Muggle banks or finance. Many of them had bank accounts, but that was solely so they could buy from Muggle vendors. They'd deposit cash and immediately write a check. I could pick up brochures from banks to give an idea of what else was possible.

The third question revealed that no one had a good idea for dealing with the ministry other than doing what they were already doing: pay off those who just had to be paid off and otherwise operate beneath official notice.

And my second question revealed that everyone here was delusional. "We had in mind an equal partnership among the ten of us here. We would need you to put up the initial funding and create the storage area, but after that we would all participate in the business decisions and share in the profits. With a bit of luck we'd be able to repay you within a few years."

Cutting through the verbiage, I should help Wizarding Britain because they were in trouble and I was in a position to help. And they would cut themselves in on a slice of the pie because they were the ones who had informed me of the need for me to help.

I couldn't believe that Mr Davis was a part of this. My feelings about my _duty_ to the wizarding world had been made clear, I would have thought.

The meeting ended on a less than happy note. I hadn't given them a flat No but neither had I given them the immediate Yes they wanted.

I thought about the situation a bit more once I got home. I would probably do it, if there were a chance at a profit — "Doing well by doing good," they called it. But one thing was certain: I wouldn't be in a partnership with today's group. The advisor for the economics class that I took dropped a bit of wisdom as a side-note in one of our meetings. Don't start a business with anyone who has a goal but no plan to get there.

The next day I talked it over a bit with Tracey and Grammy. I left out my disappointment with Mr Davis's role in the discussion, not wanting to be on the wrong side of "family is everything".

"If I do this, I'll need to use something other than galleons. I don't want King Garnosh the Gaptoothed staring at me from every coin my bank issues."

Tracey looked at me. "Who? I don't recognize him from Binns's history classes."

"Oh, you're right. The newer galleons have Goppenhilda the Gorgeous, his wife."

"You're just making that up! Aren't you?"

"Well, I can see _someone_ slept through her History of Magic classes."

"I did not! I used the time to daydream, just like everyone else with any sense."

The problem was that galleons were charmed to be unalterable and well-nigh indestructible. It made perfect sense, of course. One of the problems with precious metal coins is filing, scraping off small bits from the edges. If you do it carefully no one will notice the little bit missing, and you can eventually get a decent amount of gold or silver. The Muggle solution was to mill the coin with little ridges all around the edge so filing would be noticed. (And the modern Muggle solution is to make their coins out of base metal, but that's a different topic.) The goblins simply put charms on the coins so that bits of gold couldn't be removed.

Well, it wasn't an urgent concern. Assuming I decided to do some form of bank, there were plenty of other problems to solve before I needed to worry about what to use for coins.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Speaking of banking, I was getting cash-poor. Muggle cash; I still had millions of galleons. The problem was, most of the stuff I needed to buy was in the Muggle world. I had enough rent coming in to cover ordinary expenses, but nothing like the flood that had been going out. More rent would be here soon, but for the next few days we'd need to tighten our belts if I couldn't raise some cash.

Of course, I could buy enough food from Wizarding grocers no matter how much they charged for it. But the system hadn't gotten straightened out yet and there wasn't enough to go around. Every carrot I bought was a carrot some other family couldn't buy. I might decide to let them all be taken over by the next dark lord to come up, but until I got to that point I wouldn't let kids go hungry.

I did have a "business" bank account with a fair bit in it. That was for upkeep of my properties, taxes, and the like. Harry-Potter-the-non-magical-property-owner expenses, not Harry-Potter-the-person. I wouldn't dip into that unless it was an emergency. And I had Harry-Potter-the-person bank accounts, but they didn't have much. I'd always preferred to keep my wealth as gold rather than as numbers in a book. This policy had cost me in the past year because gold prices dropped like a rock as the Muggle British government sold their gold reserves. I wasn't going to starve, of course, but between taxes and gold prices I had a net loss last year, which came out of my personal Muggle wealth.

Similarly to the bank accounts, I owned quite a few stocks and securities, inherited from my parents. I wouldn't be selling those to support the wizarding world's economy. I didn't plan to sell them at all. They were my safety net in case I left not only the magical world but the British Isles entirely. I might have to abandon my real property but stocks could be exchanged anywhere in the Muggle world. I hadn't shared these thoughts with the Davises; there was no sense adding stress when they already doubted my commitment to Wizarding Britain.

It occurred to me, as I went over my finances to find a way to buy groceries, that my business and personal finances were more complicated than most of the wizarding world's. They worked essentially on a cash basis plus land ownership and business partnerships, with the goblins making loans to individuals. Perhaps the introduction of more modern financial instruments would shake up the system enough to break it free of the rich purebloods' control. Or bring it all crashing down. I wasn't sure if I cared which.

As for our groceries, the senior Davises were a little vague on how Muggle money made it into the wizarding world. "The goblins handled it." Sure, the Muggle-born and their families would exchange some pounds for galleons, but nowhere near enough given the amount of food and other basics that came from the Muggle world. Marie said she'd look into that.

Meantime, I had this huge mound of gold. There had to be something I could do with it.

"Hello. I just inherited a pile of these coins. I don't know what they are but they seem to be gold. Can you tell me what they're worth?"

The coin dealer took the galleon readily enough but very soon was looking at it skeptically. He poked at it with a few tools, measured and weighed it, then handed it back to me. "It's not gold, whatever it is. I couldn't even scratch the surface and the weight is wrong. Some sort of anodized coating over lead, I'd guess. And look at the likeness on this side. It looks more like a caricature than a real person. It's probably a gag coin. It's not worth anything, young man."

Two other dealers said the same thing. Disgruntled and discouraged I made my way back home to cut open a coin and see for myself.

Easier said than done. The coin resisted all magical and physical attempts to cut it. Tracey wandered by when I was getting frustrated and suggested transfiguring it to a different shape. No dice. I could feel something resisting me. Then Natalie came by and asked, "Why can't you change it? Is it a spell?" D'oh! I _knew_ the coins were charmed but forgot all about it. Full-time student, part-time landlord, looking at starting a bank, and spending the nights exercising rather than sleeping. I could either cut back on my activities or drink more tea. "Dobby!"

Removing the protection was, again, easier said than done, but by the end of the afternoon I had removed the anti-tamper charms and sliced a galleon in half.

It sure was nice, shiny gold… as far down as a coat of paint. The interior was a dull grey.

I'd learned a little metallurgy in researching and making my Bomb — Oh, right. I ought to start making another. Never know when you'll need one. — so I knew how to melt and separate and weigh the metals. I was just confirming what I already knew.

Lead.

I had tons of lead in my basement. I wasn't sure there was enough gold in the pile to be worth separating out, what with having to break the anti-tamper charms on each coin one at a time.

Two more hours' work after dinner showed that sickles also were lead but knuts were real copper. Too bad copper wasn't valuable enough to be worth breaking the goblin enchantments. Besides, I didn't have enough knuts to make a difference. Tracey brought me a handful of wizarding coins from across Europe that she'd been collecting. Lead. I'd guess the different tribes of goblins were all in on this together.

That evening I talked with the Davises (Dobby was busy with Sukki; I ran away from hearing the details but apparently she needed to be disciplined), sharing my findings and wondering how to start a bank with no gold and no valuable currency. The conversation took a turn I hadn't expected.

"Should we tell anyone? I'd hate to keep giving people galleons for food and stuff when I know they aren't real gold."

"I should think not," Grammy said forcefully. "Losing faith in money will lead to even greater turmoil than closing the bank. After all, even when you destroyed Gringotts there was still money in Britain. We'd have muddled through somehow if the ministry hadn't interfered and made things worse."

"We should inform only business owners, especially small shopkeepers. It is they who have the most to lose from bad money, trading their goods for lead."

The most to lose? Really? What about people working in those shops, trading away part of their lives for a few lead coins?

"Does it really matter? So long as everyone thinks they're money, then everyone can buy and sell and everything is good."

"That's a good idea, Marie." Not surprisingly, Mr Davis was latching onto that. "That's the way most of the Muggle world works. It works well enough for them, it seems."

I wasn't sure about that. The more I read in history and economics, the more it seemed that cheap money was the root of all evil. All government and bank evil, anyway.

The discussion — if you call three people all arguing on one side and not noticing I wasn't saying anything a discussion — kept up while I ignored them and thought it through. Any economy more advanced than barter needs some form of money. Ordinary people prefer a hard currency, like gold coins or paper backed by silver. They want their money to be worth the same next year as it is now. Governments like a soft currency because they can just print more when they want to wage a war or build a statue of the ruler or inflate away their debts. Dishonest money-men also like soft currency because there are more opportunities to make a profit from funny tricks with the funny money.

"Perhaps the thing to do is continue to use the galleons." Marie was talking when I tuned back in. "There is nothing else we can use and everyone is accustomed to them. As for your concerns about fraud, we simply don't refer to the coins as gold. Call them galleons, and if people assume they are solid gold, that is their own lookout."

That might work. It was one of those not-quite-a-lie untruths like Dissembledore was always spouting. I didn't like it, but it might be necessary to sacrifice some of my scruples for the greater good –

I couldn't believe I just thought that.

I wondered if that was what got Dumbledore started down the wrong path, just one little omission, one little lie, one little manipulation.

The hits kept coming. Mr Davis was pushing the hardest, though Marie wasn't far behind. Tracey mostly kept quiet, while Grammy kept a hard line.

"Young man, you _must not_ tell the public. The risk of chaos and disruption is much too great. You must find a solution, and only then may you tell whom you like."

I ground my teeth. "Mrs Davis. I have great respect for your experience. I will listen to your advice when you offer it. But _I will not be ordered_. Not by you, not by anyone. And never in my own house."

The verbal assault stopped dead. Honestly, I don't know if they were more intimidated by my anger or by the enraged elf by my side.

Tracey rather timidly broke the silence. "Harry? I'm not going to tell you what to do, but if you do tell everyone, can you stock up on food for us first?"

Yet another moral question: if I'm going to do something which could hurt a lot of people, is it ok to keep myself from being hurt by the same thing? It was certainly wrong to profit from the chaos, but where is the line?

Not for the first time, I cursed my History advisor. He'd loaded me up on philosophy books, tracing moral thought from Classic Greece through today. I had been much happier without these questions. Just mind my own business until a problem hits me, then charge in and fix it without worrying about consequences. Now, everything I might do seemed filled with moral dilemmas. I had just turned eighteen! I shouldn't have to worry about anything but getting into college and my girlfriend's pants.

"That's a good idea. Dobby and Sukki, in the next few days, please make sure we have enough food in the house to last us at least a month. No, two months. And stock up on other supplies, too." I still didn't know where the line lay, but taking a few small steps so I could keep getting in my girlfriend's pants didn't seem too morally hazardous.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"May I have your attention, please?" They didn't have much choice. My voice was booming across the market field on a crisp October morning.

The businessmen who knew about the lead galleons were uniformly against my telling everyone else. They were concerned about a panic that would stop everyone from buying and ruin everything. They had a good point, as did Grammy Davis when I first discovered it. But the idea of continuing to use galleons and calling them "gold" while knowing the truth rankled. Maybe it was just a reaction to all the half-truths and outright lies that had been told to me, all in the name of the Greater Good, but I wasn't going to be a party to it.

So, as I was saying, no one wanted me to make the announcement. A few went so far as to forbid me from going to the market ground.

There was a little problem with that. I was paying for the market ground. In fact, I'd been underwriting the markets since the beginning. No one bothered to tell me, but I'd been paying for the fields and the security and the other overhead all along. I found out only when I was tracking down where the money had all gone when I noticed that the pile of bags of galleons was getting smaller instead of larger as businesses repaid their loans. I didn't really think any of the Davises were stealing it. And they weren't, in Mr and Mrs Davis's eyes. The economy needed to keep running and people needed to be able to buy food, and the ministry taxes and fees and restrictions were making everything too expensive to afford. The solution was to take from someone who had the ability to pay for it and subsidize everyone who needed it.

Yes, that sounded very familiar from my readings in philosophy and world history of the last century or so.

I might even have gone along with it, if they'd asked instead of sneaked. Saying afterward that I'd been too busy with my schoolwork was no excuse.

So, the announcement. "May I have your attention, please? Thank you. This will take a few minutes, but it's important. You all know that Gringotts Bank closing has been a big problem for us all. I've been working on opening a new bank." I had to pause for cheers. I soaked that in for a moment, knowing that they'd cut off after the next bit. "Thank you, but that's not the announcement. There's a problem with the galleons Gringotts was using."

Over the next ten minutes I got a coin from an audience member, and demonstrated how to remove the anti-tamper charms, and cut the coin in half.

"You see the problem. Our coins are not gold, they're lead."

As expected, the yells of outrage began immediately. There were a lot of shouts to get the goblins — already done; no need to thank me — and a fair number of complaints that I screwed things up for everyone and what was I going to do to fix it?

"I don't have any answers for you right now. So long as everyone is willing to work for galleons and take galleons for purchases, everything will keep working. Longer term, I'm working on better money. But I had to tell you about this now because I found out the gold coins were a lie."

That went over well. "I'm not going to take lead for my trunks." "You mean to tell me I just worked a whole week and got a handful of lead?" "You caused this, Potter. Now what are you going to do to fix it?" When I said it went well, you may infer some sarcasm.

But wait, it got better! A handful of aurors showed up. This was the first market I'd attended since the first one, and practically the first time I'd been seen in the wizarding world, so most likely was standing orders for the ministry-supplied watchmen to report me.

"Aurors, before you tell me I'm under arrest, please observe what I just showed everyone here." It took just a couple of minutes to outline what I'd discovered. "The ministry has been paying you in lead. Now think about what happened to Voldemort and his Death Eaters and everyone else who has come up against me. Is a handful of lead coins worth the risk?" I was overstating the case, a bit, and bluffing, a tiny bit, but they didn't know that. After a few glances between themselves the aurors settled back to listen to me talk with the angry mob.

"A few minutes ago someone asked what I'm going to do to fix the problem with the money. I don't think it's my problem to fix. The goblins were stealing gold from us all for years. All I did was find out what they'd been doing. And I destroyed Gringotts, so we don't have to worry about them stealing any more."

Oops. I didn't mean to say that. Explanations were demanded.

"There wasn't much to it. The goblins kidnapped me and locked me in a vault to die. I escaped from the vault and Gringotts collapsed when I did it. I don't think they were as secure as they said they were."

That about describes the afternoon. I repeated that I would open a bank, if I could find something that could be used as the basis for the money. I demonstrated the lead coins half a dozen more times, using coins from different people. I did find one old galleon that was real gold. I congratulated the owner, cut it up into slices for him, and ordered a security wizard to act as bodyguard as long as the old man was at the market. That caused a quick check for old galleons. I did the same for two more people. And eventually I made my way home, not having been attacked by an angry mob nor having to flee from it.

I found out later that most people continued to use galleons for trade. They weren't very happy about it, but there was nothing else to use. A few hard-noses went to barter, but that is too clunky a system for a real economy.

There were a lot of hard feelings about the bad money, many of them directed at me. Mr Davis was right, it had been a mistake for me to tell everyone, at least before I had a replacement for galleons. Luckily, Grammy was not right and everything didn't immediately drop into total chaos.

**...oooOOOooo...**

While most of my attention was on my school work throughout Autumn, I was also putting some time into planning a bank. No firm plans quite yet, but I wanted to be able to open for business quickly if I decided to do it. Partly this was for the benefit of the wizarding world but mostly it was for my benefit. By running a bank and introducing modern services I should be able to turn a profit. The fortunes of half a dozen families had come to me but had all been stolen by the goblins. I wanted to rebuild at least the Potter fortune.

As with the last time I did this semester's worth of courses, I had too much on my plate. Last time around it was Mr Progressed-Farther-than-Any-Other-on-the-Road-to-Immortality-Oops and his white-masked wastes of life. I doubted my correspondence school would accept another excuse for dropping and resuming. Fortunately, I should be able to hire someone to help me this time around. It was just knowledge and effort required, not a Chosen One type of thing.

Diagon Alley had reopened. The magical interference had faded and the ministry had managed to obliviate and confuse the Muggle investigators. Any remaining rumors or evidence of a big shake in London a few months ago were dismissed as lunatic-fringe stories. I don't know if someone in the ministry was quite clever or if they just lucked out.

In any event, Diagon Alley reopened very shortly after the market in which I made my announcement. I had stopped payments for the markets' expenses so they didn't have a choice. One fine Fall day I wandered up and down the alley, talking to anyone who would talk to me — not everyone, by any means; some held me personally responsible for the economic turmoil — asking if anyone knew of a wizard-aware Muggle banker or a wizard with knowledge of Muggle banking. Normally I'd have asked Tracey's parents to ask their network of contacts to find someone, but Mr Davis and I were still a bit at odds over the ridiculous business venture he and his friends had proposed.

Most of the wizards I asked replied with, "What? What's that? What would you want one of them for?" and the like. But after a couple of hours and what seemed like a thousand inquiries, I found John Walsh.

"You want me. I'm a Muggle-born. I graduated Westfield Academy and then went to Muggle night school to catch up my education and work toward a finance degree. In the wizarding world I'm stuck in a dead-end job as an assistant potions brewer because of my heritage, though for the past year I've also managed the shop's business operations. In the Muggle world I can't get my foot in the door for a banking career because I went missing for seven years. I'm still here because brewing pays better than waiting tables."

Of course, that's assembled from talking to him for half an hour. If he'd given a sales pitch like that I'd have gotten suspicious.

"I'd have preferred some experience working in a bank, but I understand the problems you're having. I'm having the same problems in both worlds. I might want to talk to you sometime to find out how you've kept a good attitude. I'm bitter about the wizarding world, and you've had it worse than I.

"You're hired, full time if you want it or part time until this becomes successful. You might want to keep your steady job, in case my bank fails. I can pay you galleons for now, with the option to convert to my bank's coins later. If you want it I can provide a Muggle apartment for your family as part of your pay."

Walsh took the part-time option as the safer route and the apartment as a way to ensure he'd be getting something of value for his time. I approved of both: it was the cautious decision, and from what I gathered, bankers should be cautious and conservative (in the economic, not the political, sense). That was another reason for me to hire a manager. My personality was hardly cautious and conservative. "Goof around, don't pay attention, start flailing about when trouble lands on you" makes for an exciting adventure story, but it's not appropriate for stewards of others' money.

Oh, and an amusing note. As I walked around Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, I saw several lawmen. More to the point, they saw me, though a few of them "didn't see" me. None made an attempt to arrest me. Either they took my earlier words to heart and didn't want to risk their lives for a handful of lead coins, or they didn't agree with the ministry's and Dumbledore's vendetta against me.

**...oooOOOooo...**

During these few months, Tracey and I alternated between being very affectionate and being annoyed with each other. On my side, the affectionate phase was at least partly to make up for being a jerk and snapping at her. I think the same went for Tracey. There was never any big fight or betrayal to explain the annoyed phases, it was just little things. Leaving the toilet seat up. Her wanting to gossip about her friends when I had a paper due. One of us would say something, the other would snap back, and next thing you know, we'd be either quarreling or ignoring each other. I'm not going to write down any examples because they all sound petty and childish, even to me.

One evening, after Tracey stomped off in a huff, her parents flooed back in with her and sat us both down.

"Tracey, Harry, being with another person is a skill you have to learn just like any other. You cannot simply take two people who like each other, throw them together, and expect them to stay together. And sex at best covers over the rough spots for a short while." Mr Davis grimaced at that. He's so predictable.

"The point is, you need to learn to get along. Learn to ignore the things you can live with, learn to bring up small problems before they get so big you cannot live with them, learn to tell when you will not be able to get along. Marie and I were attracted to each other at the beginning, but we never would have stayed together more than twenty years if we hadn't figured out how to live together.

"Even in a contract marriage — not that we are proposing one —" Nice save. I don't know about my expression, but Tracey's threatened her father's death. "— you would have to find a way to live together if you wanted anything but a miserable life.

"To begin with, Tracey, do you fundamentally like and respect Harry? Mr Potter, do you fundamentally like and respect my daughter? Can you imagine living the next hundred years with each other?"

After another few minutes' worth of tips for ignoring little problems, Tracey and I were shooed off to go on a date and spend some low-pressure time being a couple. The timing could have been better — I needed to study for a test and put together paperwork to evict some deadbeat tenants — but the intent was good so I went along with it.

We found ourselves in a small restaurant on Knockturn Alley because Tracey was dressed in robes which did not look anything like a Muggle dress. This was not a risky decision. Knockturn Alley is just another shopping district, but with lower-end stores and poorer customers than are found on Diagon Alley. So far as I can tell, its bad reputation came from a marketing campaign by Diagon Alley shop owners. Wizards who were wealthy enough to shop on Diagon Alley — roughly the same group who can afford to go to Hogwarts — bought into the stories of Knockturn Alley's dangerousness even though they didn't make sense. Really, if someone were murdered on Knockturn Alley every hour, don't you think someone would notice? The British wizarding population is small. A death every hour would kill them all in six years or so. But then, wizards are stupid, and the purebloods are especially stupid.

I was recognized, but no one flocked around or threatened me. Overall, I seemed to be popular with the working class, so this restaurant was a lucky selection. Tracey and I talked over our shared pot pie, friendly but not intimately, as was appropriate for a public place. Overall, dinner was nice and relaxing.

"Potter! What are you doing here?"

Until one of Mr Davis's colleagues from the abortive partnership came in.

"Isn't enough that you ruined my business and bankrupted me? Now you have to ruin my supper, too?"

I had blasted him into the wall before I consciously realized he had drawn his wand. Bone breakers to the arms made sure he wouldn't pick it up after he picked himself up, and a circular shield around Tracey and me protected against any friends he might have. Elapsed time: under two seconds.

Tracey was screaming beside me. Once I was sure there would be no more attacks, I put away my wand and attempted to calm her.

"That's your problem! Always fighting! I'll never have any peace around you. Be with you a hundred years? I'll be lucky to live five!"

This didn't come out coherently; I had to piece it together from between the screams and wails.

Tossing money to the owner for damages and a pouch of galleons to one of the attacker's friends for his healing — he'd drawn first, but my response was probably excessive — I brought Tracey to her home. She wouldn't want to spend the night with someone who was always fighting.

I sighed. The evening hadn't exactly ended as I'd hoped. Tracey was very attractive and a great bedmate and nice to have around most of the time. And she was a lightweight. I didn't think she was suitable for the life I led.

I sighed again, called for tea, and grabbed my calculus textbook.

**...oooOOOooo...**

In my copious free time when I wasn't busy with school, taking care of my properties, or trying to fix my dating life, I worked with Walsh on the million details for starting a bank. Well, that's a lie. I worked with Walsh on the concepts, an he slaved away on the million details.

Our biggest innovation, from the wizarding perspective, was account-based banking. The goblins offered nothing but glorified safe deposit boxes. Customers rented a vault and put in whatever they wanted, and in theory the goblins left it untouched until the customer's next visit.

With customers putting their money into accounts, we could let them make deposits and withdrawals without the inconvenient, time-consuming, and frightening (for some) cart rides. We could offer low-cost bank cheques; the goblins' version of bank draughts were so expensive that they were used only for large amounts and had frequently been held and traded back and forth for years before being redeemed. We could pay interest on deposits and make loans from the customer assets. This was important because without it the bank would be able to make loans and issue currency only up to the amount of the bank's own wealth. Because we were attempting to replace the wizarding nation's currency and act as a central bank, this would not do. My assets were pretty well wiped out and there was no way I could come up with more than a few percent of the wealth needed for the entire economy.

But with money going into accounts, we had the flexibility to make safe, best-guess decisions about issuing more currency and making more loans than we had wealth to back them. Fractional-reserve lending, if you consider the coins to be loans. This was getting into morally and financially hazardous territory — there's not much difference between debasing precious metal coins and lending more than you own.

We'd offer safe-deposit boxes, too. We had to inch our way into the conservative, neophobic wizarding culture.

Exchange for Muggle cash was a sticking point. We still couldn't find out how the goblins had done it. My guess, and it was as good as any, was that they sold some of the gold they stole from the wizards over the years. We couldn't do anything similar, as I didn't have enough of anything that Muggles would want. Wizarding society is essentially parasitic on Muggle society. Wizards need food and other goods that Muggles provide, but because of the Statute of Secrecy, wizards can't provide any goods and services for Muggles. Maybe that's why the goblins began their gold scam in the first place. For all I know, one of the treaties required Gringotts to exchange galleons for pounds at a fixed rate.

We'd have to leave it for later. There were already plenty of problems on our plates.

**...oooOOOooo...**

While Walsh handled most of the details, we still had to figure out how to get the new money in wide use. Accepted by the population, that is to say.

We'd given up on commodity money, coins made of intrinsically valuable material. We just couldn't come up with enough gold to put into use. I thought about "paper" money made of basilisk skin but there wasn't enough of that shed skin I found. Besides that, I didn't know how durable it was, and even an ancient, discarded skin was too magic resistant for me to apply durability charms.

That left token money, meaning coins not worth anything in themselves but standing for value. Ideally we'd have _something_ that people wanted, and which the bank would give for the coins on demand. But what? If we couldn't come up with something, we'd be left with fiat money, money worth something "because we say so". That might work for a government, which can force its people to take them, but would never work for us. And after being burned by the goblin scam, it would take a special kind of idiot to voluntarily start using another worthless coin.

Of course, this was Wizarding Britain…

But if I, or one of the groups of non-rich-pureblood businessmen, didn't think of something, then the economy would default to ownership by Malfoy and his little friends. They were already starting to circulate specially marked galleons from their own hoards, making loans at high rates and making purchases at the old, "galleons-are-solid-gold" prices. Shopkeepers might not be happy to get only that much money for their goods, but often it was that or nothing.

I might not care too much what happened to the average wizard, but I'd be damned if I let those bastards steal the country after I beat their master.

I had time to ponder today. I was doing my periodic blood scrubbing. This was the magical equivalent of dialysis, though the poison being removed was not urea but rather basilisk venom. My best guess was that a chip of basilisk fang had broken off in my arm. I had to guess because there was no medical professional I'd trust with this, not after seeing how Pomphrey was able to ignore her alleged oaths of service in covering up the injuries and abuses that happened at Hogwarts. Or the way the whole world seemed to know the details of my hospital stays. Or the way she didn't notice, or "didn't notice", a chip of _basilisk fang_ in my arm during exams for four years after the injury. I'd bet that, if I went to St Mungo's, both the ministry and the _Daily Prophet_ would be presented with proof that I was a dark creature before the exam was done.

By filtering out the poison myself when the itching, burning sensation got too much, I avoided the attention. Not only that, but every month I got a small supply of basilisk venom, a rare, valuable, and usef…

And the answer came clear. My bank's coins would be backed by basilisk venom.

The shape of the solution was simple enough. All we needed was to refine the details. I had about a gallon of venom, surely the majority of the supply in Europe. I'd have to estimate a free-market value, then produce coins worth some multiple of that value. Muggle banks these days normally issue loans equal to, say, thirty times their assets. I'd have to research how much coinage a government's central bank should issue, compared to the reserves in the vaults. Then do some advertising, let out the coins, and wait for customers and profits to roll in.

As I said, the details needed some work.

I wasn't worried about someone else flooding the market with basilisk venom and ruining the value of the currency. This is what happened in Spain after the discovery of the New World. They looted the gold from the Americas and flooded the market in Spain. The economy didn't grow to match the money supply, and the resulting inflation destroyed the Spanish economy for centuries.

Basilisk venom is valuable in its own right, like gold, but it's even rarer. A basilisk is harder to raise than simply having a toad hatch a hen's egg. And the basilisk in Hogwarts's Chamber of Secrets had rotted to uselessness. A couple of years ago I went back down and salvaged what I could from the Chamber of Stink. The fangs were still good, but everything else was spoiled. I brought samples of the different parts to a potions master to check it for usefulness and potency. The man chased me out of his shop, throwing hexes at me for the crime of wasting such a treasure.

The fangs produced a bit of venom, but it stopped after a short while. I guessed the chip in my arm (if indeed I had a chip of fang in my arm) was being kept active by my magic. I had no way to test this. I did take care to jot down my history, observations, and hypotheses in one of the family journals from the library. I'd benefitted from the notes of previous generations. This was my way of paying the debt. You never know who could benefit from reading one of my observations on fighting a basilisk or dealing with the aftermath, or what I saw in the Department of Mysteries, or how I killed Voldemort.

That last went into two blood-warded journals. Only those of Black or Potter blood could read them. Dumbledore and the ministry were desperate to know how I did it, going so far as to put me in "protective custody" after the deed was done. That worked out all right, when all is said and done. I think the detention area needed an outside exit where that wall had been and I'm pretty sure the aurors on my protective detail, the two who protected me by not letting me leave the room, were able to have their parts re-attached if someone got to them soon enough.

To return from the digression: Walsh was surprised at my suggestion of using venom to back the currency and more surprised at the source. I hadn't intended to tell him, but he'd leapt to the conclusion that I had a pet basilisk and I had to derail the incipient panic. Not that the truth was much better.

Once he got used to the idea that his boss's toxic personality wasn't entirely metaphorical, he set to the work of estimating value, calculating what multiple of that value we could issue, and so on. His experience as the potion master's manager came in handy.

Meanwhile, as before, Walsh dealt with most of the details while I did what I could.

Natalie saw me doodling up coin designs one day. I certainly wasn't going to use galleons as they were. "What are you drawing, Harry? I can help!" And help she did. Her design had a giant me strangling a basilisk with one hand, blasting Voldemort with my other hand, and holding a maiden with my other, other hand. I had to break it to her gently that I didn't want my face on the coins, but I'd hang her drawing on the wall of my den.

Once I decided on a design, I started enchanting the coins. I used gold-coated lead, for lack of anything better. The process was tricky because the signature on each coin needed to be exactly the same, so in theory each coin could be validated. And it was time consuming because they needed to be done one at a time. This is yet another reason the wizarding world lags well behind the Muggle: Muggles have factories and assembly lines and machines and automation. Wizards do practically everything manually as one-offs. Economy of scale? No. Have a skilled craftsman set up a process that an unskilled laborer can follow? No. That would be something to look into when I had some time.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The need for, and profitability of, a bank was clear to people besides me. Well, that was obvious, as that group of businessmen had approached me in the first place. But one particular someone else was advertising a bank opening before mine was quite ready.

Now, I didn't have to try to steal away their business. From what I could see, my bank's services were going to be so much better that people would come to me sooner or later.

But there were non-business reasons to ruin the other business.

"Don't bank with Malfoy! Who'd do business with a Death Eater?"

"Don't leave your money with Malfoy! Anyone who can cast an _Imperius_ can clean him out."

"Stay away from coins that Malfoy has touched. Who knows where his hands have been?"

OK, I didn't use that last one. But I seriously thought about it. I was hoping to make Malfoy look like a ridiculous fop, not any kind of serious threat.

Most of my advertisements focused on the new services I offered. "Better than Goblins" was the slogan, and the hook for another attack ad. "Malfoy's bank: Just like goblins, but slimier". That one turned out rather popular and I heard "Just like goblins" repeated by the man on the street.

For his part, Malfoy hammered on my unreliable nature and the unknown people I had working for me. "Malfoy's bank. Staffed entirely by trustworthy purebloods."

That just begged for a counter-ad, "Purebloods can't count past twenty-two even with their fingers and toes", but too many of my potential customers were purebloods.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Late December, and I was finally done with my assigned course work. I had months of memorizing before I was ready to take the A-levels, but now I was qualified to take them.

Tracey and I went out for a nice dinner to celebrate. We were trying to work out whether we'd stay as "friends with benefits" or try for "happily ever after". Or if we needed to part amicably, while we could still be friends. Aside from such momentous issues, we could hope this date would go better than the last. Not setting a high bar there: if we managed to finish our entrées we'd do better than last time.

Most wizards had settled into using galleons again (albeit at greatly inflated prices) and I still had a mountain of them, and I was still muggle-cash poor, so we went to a fancy wizarding restaurant.

"Harry, you're a great guy most of the time. Thank you so much for helping my family. And everyone else, too." She smirked and blushed at the same time, an odd sight. "And the sex is good, too, when you aren't making me mad at you."

Now, I may not be the most perspicacious man in the world, but I heard a "but" coming.

"But you've gotten so much harder since we got together. Darker. Not in a Dark Lord way, just in a human way."

I didn't like the way this was heading. One of my sneaky ulterior motives for bringing Tracey here was to find out why she was mad at me so much, figure out what I could do about it, patch things up a bit, and end the night with about six hours of sex.

The problem was, she was right. Some, anyway. I'd killed a lot of people since summer. More than I'd directly killed in fighting Riddle, I think. All of them were people I'd been pressured into fighting, and I could justify every death, but still. It leaves a mark.

It was almost a relief when a clothes horse interrupted our toying with our food and avoiding each other's eyes.

"Potter. Cease your constant attacks on me and cease this nonsense of taking over our world."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy? I'm not trying to take over anything. What are you doing out in public, anyway? Shouldn't you be hiding your Death Eater face from decent people?"

"That's slander! You know perfectly well I was held under the Imperius curse. Now, stop changing the subject. A mere boy, raised like an animal among Muggles, could never be qualified to organize the backbone of a great nation. You need to step aside and let a better family, one experienced in finance and the ways of the wizarding world, perform the duty."

I saw that people were watching the confrontation, so I decided to play it up to advertise the bank I would someday be opening. "Experienced in finance, are you? Tell me, Lucius," — Note that I called him Lucius, not any of the half-dozen insulting variants that occurred to me on the spot. It's not that I'm becoming mature, it's that I'm becoming aware of presentation before an audience. In my mind I'll still call him Doucheus. — "what kinds of bank draughts do you plan to issue? How will you resolve disputes over payment? Are you going to offer services other than secure storage? Will you offer transaction-based accounts? What is your fee schedule? What interest rates will you offer on account deposits? Where do you plan to put your storage? How convenient will it be for depositors to access their property? What form of auditing will you provide to ensure honest accounting?"

Malfoy was reeling. He clearly hadn't a clue what I was talking about. And I hadn't exactly been using any esoteric banking terminology or specialized banking knowledge. All or most of what I'd just asked would be familiar to any Muggle with a bank account. Which was the point I was making.

"Face it Malfoy, you don't know about finance or banking. All you know is the way you purebloods have been running things for centuries. You may be a big fish here, but this is a very small pond. The entire British wizarding population is just one medium-sized city. You're not a nation, you're Cwmbran. We don't need a vast financial structure for a great empire, we need a local bank for a small city. Any Muggle would have a better idea what's needed than any pureblood wizard."

My big mouth. Some of the audience had nodded approvingly when I started my rant, but most looked as confused as Malfoy. And after that last bit almost everyone was frowning at me.

Malfoy, also playing to the audience, jumped in with an attack on me rather than on the merits of what I said. A tried and true debating technique, which works especially well on naive audiences. Like British wizards. "And there you reveal your foolishness. A boy raised among Muggles cannot appreciate the nuances of our way of life."

"Well, there's no need for us to fight about it. There's room for more than one bank. You can call yours the Death Eater Bank of England and I'll call mine the Decent Folk Bank of England."

Malfoy started to splutter again. Really, considering that he's a high-profile Death Eater who makes enemies every time he opens his mouth, you'd think he'd have a thicker skin. I ignored his insults. They were meaningless.

But amidst the spluttering came a clear, "When my Master hears about this…" Not too smart, Lucius, with all these witnesses around.

I'd made the points I wanted to make to the audience (as well as some I shouldn't have made) and got a free bonus point thanks to Malfoy's reflexive threat. Now I wanted to be rid of the nuisance. Getting into a fight in front of Tracey wasn't going to get her into my bed tonight. "Look, Malfoy, you can wave your little pee-pee –" Dammit! I was _trying_ to appear mature in front of Tracey and the audience, but I just couldn't do it. "– at me some other time. Why don't you go back to what you were doing? Tonight I'm spending time with my lady friend."

"Ah, yes. The Davis girl." The albino returned to form as his eyes ran up and down Tracey's figure. "They say every man has his weakness."

"Oops. Time for you to make your peace, Malfoy."

He didn't know what to make of my final statement, but with a few more veiled threats and not-so-veiled insults he eventually left. Dinner was ruined, so we left, too.

"Harry, what am I going to do? I can't fight Malfoy if he comes to get me."

"Don't worry. You don't have to fight him, you just have to get away from him. You've already got a portkey necklace. And I'd better give one to Nat, too. Don't worry, it will work out all right."

My original hopes for the night were in a shambles, as Tracey wasn't in an amorous mood. My revised plan wasn't going to happen tonight, as Tracey needed to cling to me and I wasn't going to be able to get away. No problem. I'd sleep tonight, and take care of things tomorrow night.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Natalie, I have a present for you." Tracey and I went to her family house before they left for work the next day. "I want you to wear it all the time, ok?" That should be no hardship for her. What little girl doesn't want a necklace with a pink pony with a multicolored mane? "And listen, if you're ever in big trouble, like someone attacking you, hold the necklace and say, 'Harry's House'." This was a one-trip portkey. It had taken some work to disguise the magical pattern so the necklace would seem to carry only a cheering charm.

The Davises were late to work as Tracey and I related the night's encounter and I told them not to worry. I also told everyone not to say anything about any suspicions they might develop over what they saw in the newspaper.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Dobby helped me get to Malfoy Manor. Oddly, I'd never been here. I had expected to have to smash my way in during the war, but that fool Draco left his safe harbor on a mission. That saved me the effort of killing him for his many crimes against me and my friends, but denied me the pleasure of killing him for his many crimes against me and my friends.

My friend was essential for getting me in. He'd already checked that he was still keyed in to the wards. You'd think that, over the centuries that wizards have bound elves, enough elves would have been sold or freed that wizards would have it on their checklists to lock out elves once they'd left service. But pureblood, inbred wizards are stupid.

Dobby popped in and disabled all of the elves in residence — only one; the Malfoy family was coming down in the world — then escorted me in. This prevented the wards from sounding.

"Hello, Doucheus," I said politely as I petrified him in his reading chair. "Up a bit late, aren't we?"

Now I had a slight problem. I'd planned to show a bit of fang, maybe break an arm or two. Show him he was not safe from me even in his home. Explain to him that my girlfriend was off-limits in whatever game he was playing.

But now that I had him helpless in front of me I was suffering from some doubts.

Death Eater. Murderer. Kidnaper. Everything Mulciber was and then some. And a rich son-of-a-diseased-bitch who repeatedly bought his way out of trouble so he could go right back to doing it again.

"Dobby, we never did get you justice for Malfoy's treatment of you, did we? What do you think, would his ears make you a nice birthday present? Uh, no, I don't think chewing them off his head will work very well." We were working to a loose script, but sometimes Dobby scares me. "Look, Dobby, I need you to find out if anyone else is in the building. Go as fast as you can and come back here."

Even at elf speed he'd be a few minutes to check such a big house. "So tell me, Madboy, why are you trying to scare off the banking competition? To get even more money and power? Your master, you know, that half-blood whose toes you used to lick, is dead and isn't taking all your money any more. And you don't have an heir to leave it to, what with Dorko getting himself killed in his nice little white mask." Wow, getting angry there. He almost seemed about to break his petrification. Or himself, since the spell still had him locked up tight. And that gave me an idea. "And it's not like you can make yourself another heir, even if Narcissa hadn't gotten herself killed in her nice little white mask. How'd you manage to get her pregnant, anyway? Pass her around to your friends and expect that one of them would do the trick? Or did you just bend her over and pretend she was a little boy? Oh! That would explain a lot. You aimed wrong out of habit, didn't you? And that's why your precious darling Draco was always a little shit."

Almost there! Malfoy was straining so hard that there was actually a healthy color on his albino face. "And it also explains why you want to steal everyone's money with your bank. You need a lot of money so you can have someone invent a way to get little boys pregnant. You want a nine year old boy to be able to crap out Draco Junior."

Dobby popped in to report that the manor contained only one house elf, whom he'd handled, and a prisoner chained in the master bedroom. Good. In most circumstances I'd set monitoring wards all over the house so I'd know when to leave, and then free the prisoner. But ol' Lucius was almost done here.

"Dobby, I want you to loot the house here. Take everything valuable. You know what we're going to do with your money, Bad Aim? Three things. I'm going to pay for assassins to destroy all of the pureblood families in Britain. And I'm going to give money to all those poor pureblood daughters who will be on the street because their fathers and brothers were all killed. What does a pureblood girl go for now, a sickle a throw? I'll give some Muggles some wizard money so they can have fun, too." Malfoy's breathing was so fast and irregular it was no wonder his face was purple. "And here's the best part, you pathetic inbred. I'm going to use most of the money for scholarships to bring in all of the Muggle-born who couldn't afford a magical education. Just think, in ten years the number of adult wizards will double, maybe even triple, and all those Muggle-born will destroy your society."

Malfoy's face lost its purple color but his lips turned blue. I gave it another minute before checking. Yes, he was done here. Indeed, the tongue is mightier than the sword.

"You're not really going to do all that, are you, Harry?"

"No, of course not. Well, mostly not. We're going to rob Malfoy Manor, but not the rest." I didn't feel any guilt. The Malfoys were all gone. So were the Blacks. The closest relatives would be third cousins or farther. As a distant Black, I probably had as good a blood claim as any, come to think of it. I'd personally suffered by Malfoy's actions, starting with that stupid diary. And I could claim right of conquest, though it was questionable whether insulting someone into heart failure counted as a conquest.

Dobby set about looting the place while I set the wards and then saw to the prisoner. It was a naked boy, about ten years old.

Jesus. I'd just been taking cheap shots, getting to Malfoy. It never occurred to me that it was the truth.

The boy was unconscious and didn't seem like he was dying, so I let him be for the moment.

Dobby brought me to the captured elf. I wouldn't try to release him without Dobby to help. House elves weren't unstoppable combat juggernauts, but they were fast and unpredictable and could be dangerous and I hadn't practiced the spells for fighting and subjugating them.

"Hello. I am Harry Potter. Your master is dead. I didn't kill him with a spell. I think it was heart failure. However, he threatened my woman. Under the old rules, I am claiming his property by right of conquest. I order you to bond to my family." The formalities were soon done and Tapper was helping Dobby gather up the loot. His silence and obedience were now guaranteed.

The aftermath took the rest of the night but was straightforward. Dobby grabbed everything valuable and brought it to one of my warehouses. There was too much for the cottage's storeroom. It took him several trips, but it all worked out well enough.

The boy wasn't any trouble. He'd been obliviated until he barely knew his own name. He seemed to be a muggle, though I wasn't too sure of my spell work there. When we were done at the manor I apparated him to a hospital and left him at the emergency room with a scrawled note and an envelope of cash. It was the best I could do for him.

Dobby brought me the newspaper a few days later. Well-known mainstay of pureblood society Lucius Malfoy was found dead in his home, the victim of an obvious pre-Yule burglary. DMLE informed the newspaper that the thieves were probably near-squibs, as their heart exploder curse was barely strong enough to kill Malfoy. We join all the world in mourning this fine man's tragic demise. Ah, _Daily Prophet_, whatever would we do without you?

**...oooOOOooo...**

In January Walsh and I worked full-bore on last-minute details. He took time off from his day job and spent his vacation working hundred-hour weeks. In the beginning of the month we hired a manager to arrange for building rental, hire staff, and so on. His most important job to start with was to smooth the way with the ministry. Even if I managed to slip their grasp every time they went to grab me, they could shut my bank down in a week by confiscating every coin I issued, or even arresting those holding the coins as conspirators of a known criminal.

To that end, Gamp used his impeccable pureblood ancestry and contacts within the ministry to get us a hands-off policy so long as we didn't visibly break any laws. Gamp's ancestry and contacts didn't quite suffice, but a pouch of the galleons sitting in my basement did the trick. The cost was very reasonable, given that those lead galleons were practically worthless and, with luck, would soon be utterly worthless.

Dobby found me another elf. To start with, at least, we would use part of my basement as our vault. We trained the new elf to fetch and store customers' safe-deposit boxes, shuttle pouches of different currencies, and so on. Elves don't seem to have any real limit on the number of times they can pop in a day, so this was not only convenient, it was an extra layer of security. Anyone who robbed the bank would get only what was in the tellers' trays. And I was the only human who could enter the vault and live.

And finally, in mid-February, The Decent Folk Bank of England opened to great fanfare.

The less said about that day, the better. There were no great problems, but everyone in the world wanted to talk to me, shake my hand, get a little piece of me. When the day finally dragged to a halt, I went home to shake in Tracey's arms for an hour.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Even after the hoo-raw of Grand Opening died down, my presence was still required at the bank every day. Katrina, the receptionist, information desk, and appointments secretary, attempted to make appointments so I could come in just one day per week or a few hours per day, but tenth-generation purebloods and ministry department heads were not used to being told No by some young, no-family witch. I would have hired some old battle-axe as the bank's appointment secretary, but the truth was, I couldn't afford to alienate too many influential people. I ended up spending most of every day at the bank, studying when I could, meeting people and solving problems when I must.

One fine day Katrina told me that my business partners urgently needed to speak to me. Partners? I didn't have any partners. Walsh and I had talked about it, but for now he was simply an employee. Maybe it was representatives of some would-be crime lord, coming to deal themselves into my bank.

On seeing the two "partners" walk through my door, I would have preferred the representatives of a would-be crime lord.

"Weasley. Weasley. I can't say it's a pleasure, but it's a surprise. I thought you were done with me. In fact, I remember those exact words from Fred's mouth. What's it been now, almost two years?"

Yes, I was much more polite than might be expected. What can I say? I was in a very good mood after spending a night not sleeping much.

"I'm sure you're a busy man, so we'll cut to the chase. We need to set up an account to write checks for both Muggles and wizards."

"And we need a line of credit."

"George, your part, no problem. Fred, don't make me laugh."

"We don't _want_ it, we _need_ it. We bankrupted ourselves providing stuff to the ministry for the war. They didn't pay much over our cost, nothing like our retail prices. We went through that first thousand and all of our profits before then just to keep things going. Then, after it was all over, the ministry stiffed us."

"Cry me a river. Get back to me when the ministry not only doesn't pay you but tries to arrest you for winning the war. Now, do you really want a checking account, or was that just the hook so you could cadge money?"

Wading through the excessive verbiage, they did need a checking account. They had placed orders with Muggle companies for supplies and of course couldn't pay in galleons. But they didn't have enough money to be worth opening an account, let alone pay their suppliers. So Fred was somewhat right: they needed a loan in order to make their next batch of stuff to sell.

Setting aside personal issues, they were gifted inventors. And, in fact, they were a large part of my inspiration in inventing my own toys – most wizards simply used existing spells and potions without even considering making something new. Yet another similarity with Muggles: few people know how their television works and almost none could have invented it.

Making the Weasley twins a loan, at an appropriate interest rate, might be a good business decision. I could set aside my personal distaste for the family in the pursuit of profit. Hooray, I'm growing up.

The twins, never a pair to sit quietly more than three seconds at a time, couldn't just let me think this through. "If you won't lend us money, you can give us something else we can use. How about, how did you kill Voldemort? Maybe we can use that to turn a profit."

Plans for loans screeched to a halt. "Don't tell me, let me guess. The ministry has a reward for that information. Or did Dumbledore want you to turn it over for free, for the Greater Good? Get out. I don't deal with kidnapers or their lackeys."

**...oooOOOooo...**

I continued to study when I could, but the bank was taking up more and more of my time. Of the four sets of coins in circulation, only mine was backed by anything but air and promises. This led to more customers and higher demand, exactly as I hoped.

But something came about that I should have expected but hadn't. Because my coins were worth a fixed amount of basilisk venom and I would redeem it on demand, people tended to hold on to my coins, preferring to spend the "air and promises" money. "Bad money drives out good" had been explained in my reading, but I simply hadn't thought of it. Walsh hadn't either, though to be fair his education had concentrated on practical matters in the banking industry, whereas mine had been more theoretical.

After researching the topic and discussing it with Walsh, I decided to issue more coins. We were now up to four-to-one for coins issued compared to the basilisk venom I had in the vault. This made me a little nervous, but it was only a tiny fraction of the usual reserve ratio in Muggle banks. We wouldn't be in trouble unless there was a run on the bank, with many people demanding the venom for their coins. And if that happened we were in trouble anyway.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I was on my feet and running for my den before I had fully awoken. The intruder alarms had gone off in the middle of the night.

Sukki met me at the door. "It's ok, Master Harry. We got them all. Tapper is watching bad humans in the cells. Dobby is outside watching if more come."

The house wards had captured two of the intruders as they tried to enter. Dobby and Sukki had popped out and gotten the other four by slapping portkeys on them. All were awaiting my pleasure in the cells.

Note those numbers. My extremely effective house wards, among the best in the land, were less effective than two motivated house elves. Wizards are not only insane, they're _stupid_, using the species only as menials.

We kept watch the rest of the night, but there were no further assaults.

Come morning, good and tired and hungry and grouchy, I decided to see whom we'd caught.

"Hello, Bill. Miss Vance. Flitwick. I don't recognize the rest of you. Is this an Order of the Phoenix party, or just coincidence that the three of you are in on this?"

Profanity and threats came at me from all directions. Sheesh, two times I've had prisoners and two times they've been mad at me. You'd think they didn't appreciate my hospitality.

That was a joke, but not really. I've mentioned that the Blacks were paranoid, proficient, powerful, and pernicious. The house wards reflected that. Battering unwelcome visitors and throwing them in anti-magic cells was the least hostile the wards could be set. The default setting was lethal. The nasty setting was "wish for death".

So, the threats.

"You –" Bill had quite the mouth on him. Like his mother, but multi-lingual. "I stood up for you, told my brothers you weren't that bad. I should have known that my family was right about you. They took you in, treated you like family, and you betrayed them all like this. Don't think my mother didn't tell us what you did to her." From the other bits he spewed out, it was clear that Molly, Ron, Ginny, and the twins hadn't told him quite _everything_ about their last interactions with me.

"Mr Potter, your murderous ways must come to a stop. It will be my privilege to destroy you for your unbelievable, heinous crimes." Flitwick was nothing like the jolly man I'd respected and liked at school. He was practically frothing at me. I wondered if some of the less kind rumors and jokes about him were true. If so, then he'd lost relatives at Gringotts and destroying me was personal.

"Dumbledore knows where we are, Potter. Do the smart thing and let us go before he has to come and smash us out." Interesting. One of the unknown wizards was more reasonable than the three who knew me. Maybe familiarity breeds contempt, or maybe his own personal ox hadn't been gored before coming here tonight. Nevertheless, being reasonable didn't mean he was right.

"Maybe you haven't figured this out. A world-class curse breaker got caught by my wards. And a professional duelist was captured without getting off a spell. Who is going to come in and get you out? And here's a hint, Bill. I've had a lot of house guests, people not related by blood. The wards were turned down as low as they go. I've turned them back up. Anyone who tries to break in now will die screaming."

There wasn't a whole lot of useful conversation. None, in fact. It was strange. Everyone in the world knew I'd killed Riddle. This group had heard Dumbles's suspicions that I'd done something to Gringotts. It was talked about that I'd somehow defeated a large ministry group sent to arrest me and made them all disappear. And even though my house elves had thrown these geniuses into cells, where they still sat with no magic available, they thought I was helpless to do anything.

"We're at an impasse, Potter. We trapped here for the moment, but you as soon as you open the cell doors we will get out and destroy you. And Dumbledore will be here any moment."

Flitwick had spent too many years teaching eleven-year-olds and away from the real world. At a flick of my finger, the cell blasted a stunner through him.

"Does anyone else have anything they'd like to say? No? That's fine. Dobby, bring me the veritaserum, please." Walsh had gotten me a wide variety of controlled potions, _sub rosa_.

It turned out that this was an Order of the Phoenix party, with the four members here being a large part of the remaining group. The other two were a hired curse breaker and a hired fighter. Dumbledore had sent them partly to break my bank — the combination of personal power, reputation (currently being smeared, but still favorable), and money would make me a threat if I were to turn dark.

The other reason was known only to Flitwick.

"Albus told me of the prophecy. You are fated to come in conflict with the leader of the other side and you have a power he knows not. Albus cannot risk fighting you until he knows the power. You are on the path to becoming the next dark lord. Mass murder is just the beginning and we cannot risk the leader of the light."

Typical Dumbledore. The magical world has several methods of detecting lies. I'd have to see if there was a way to detect half truths and misdirection.

There was only one more notable part of the interrogation, a funny one this time. I'd waited until Weasley's dose wore off.

"Have you been eating at The Burrow? Did you eat any of the pork that someone gave your family? Did you notice it tasted any different than usual? Did you know that I captured the entire group of aurors that was sent to arrest me? And did you know that human flesh looks and tastes like pork?"

Bill looked at me, aghast, before vomiting up about the last three weeks' worth of meals. Not a wise thing to do when you're on your back, bound to a table. I let him choke a few moments before cleaning up the mess and letting him breathe.

"Don't worry. It was just pig. But do you see how easy it is to fall for half truths? You need to be more suspicious when you talk with Dumbledore.

"Not that it matters. The bad news for you is, I can't afford to feed prisoners. The good news is, I'll be letting you go. The bad news is, I'm not very good at obliviating. If you live through it, you'll probably be drooling imbeciles. The good news is, don't worry, Bill. You'll still be smarter than Ron. And Vance, you're pretty good looking. I'm sure you can earn a living even if you can't dress yourself. That might even be a selling point in your new career."

There were more screamed complaints about my hospitality, but it didn't make any difference. When I was done, the elves put on disguises and brought the six to the St Mungo's lobby. I didn't want them to disappear. I could have use Draught of Living Death for that, or fed them to pigs. No, I wanted to deliver a message to Dumbledore.

Two important points had come out of the night. First, Dumbledore knew where I lived. That was bad. Even with the wards cranked all the way up, my house was not an impregnable fortress. I'd need to look at moving my household and the bank assets.

The second point was that Dumbledore was afraid of me. That was worse. Sure, it was ego gratifying to have "the most powerful wizard in the world" afraid of a teenager, but he _was_ immensely powerful. His magical strength probably exceeded mine, he had deeply studied magics I had not even heard of, his political strength dwarfed mine on my best day, and he had a century or three of manipulating and dealing and getting his way. My only advantage was creativity not constrained by "the way wizards do things", and I couldn't see that being enough. If I couldn't persuade him I wasn't an enemy and I couldn't neutralize him, Britain was not a safe place for me.

As I pondered — let's be honest: as I worried — the alarms went off again. Someone had apparated onto the property.

Tracey awaited me down in the dungeon. Not exactly awaiting me patiently. Spitting mad, in fact. The broken arm might account for that. With my wards cranked up, even people on the access list were thrown into the dungeon if they tried to enter. With the Black Family Wards special battering, of course.

"Tracey! What are you doing here? I told Grammy and Nat not to come over. I'm having problems here."

"You're having problems? I came over to help and this is what you do to me? Let me out!"

I hastened to release her from the cell and to lead her from the dungeon, jabbering apologies and explanations as she spewed invective. I couldn't blame her for being angry. Sukki had passed word to Grammy and Nat not to come and Grammy mentioned it to Tracey, but the message had gotten garbled along the way.

"I have bone knitting potion, but you should be checked by a healer. Let me apparate you to St Mungo's."

"I'll do it myself! I don't need any help from you."

And with that she apparated out. And left her unbroken arm behind.

"Dobby! Sukki! Tapper! I need to leave for a while. I'm turning the wards back down to make sure no one else is hurt. If anyone else attacks, Dobby, you're in charge. Defend against casual attacks, but don't risk yourselves. The stuff here isn't worth it." Sighing, I apparated with the arm to the hospital.

Tracey's family understood immediately that I'd done my best to warn everyone away. She and I eventually worked things out. It seems strange to say, but I was almost glad Tracey stayed away for a week. I was desperately busy and, lame though it sounds, I needed work or sleep more than I needed sex.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Potter! I've been trying to get in to talk to you but you've been ignoring me."

Great. My day wasn't bad enough. I'd just picked up my A-level results on the way in to my office in the bank. An Acceptable in History, failures in everything else. I'd known I hadn't excelled, but this was a dreadful shock. Too much time working, not enough time studying. I'm sorry, Hermione.

"I want a loan, Potter. A big one. You owe it to me, after everything you've done to me and my family. Dumbledore told me what you did to Bill. He's just like the Longbottoms now, you bastard! You owe us and you owe us big."

Was Dumbledore proud of himself, manipulating Ron Weasley? Why didn't he cheat a three-year-old out of her candy while he was at it?

"What about what you've done to me, Weasley? We can skip everything else and talk about you killing my girlfriend. You shot her in the back, Weasley. She was fighting Death Eaters and you shot her from behind."

"That was an accident! You can't prove anything else, even if she did throw me over for your money and fame. There was an investigation and everything." He got an ugly look on his face. "Not that DMLE would say anything else. It's not like she had a family, a proper wizarding family, to speak for her. And my father has been with the ministry his whole life."

I choked down my rage. After a few splutters, I got out, "Your father? Congratulations, Ron. You sound just like Malfoy now. Oh, wait, he's dead. Take the hint."

As Ron's face turned purple I ground my teeth. He was right. The ministry's managers were all from the same few families. A lowly mudblood had by law almost the same rights as a pureblood, but those rights often were not respected. And filthy muggles, like Hermione's parents, had no right at all to bring a complaint to DMLE.

I'd always wondered if Ron had intended to shoot Hermione. He'd never said anything before to support the suspicion, even when we were arguing right after the event.

"Now give me money, Potter."

Two years ago I'd let Weasley go, despite what I suspected. Two years ago I was comparatively innocent.

"You owe it to me."

In the past few months I'd killed dozens of men and women. Coldly murdered almost a dozen. Destroyed minds with uncontrolled obliviations. And nuked all of Britain's goblins.

"Remember, I was the first friend you ever had."

One more death would not stain my soul any blacker.

"You are not my friend. You are nothing to me. No, your family is nothing. You are less than nothing. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

I turned and walked away. I wouldn't murder if I didn't have to. But today it was a close thing.

Behind me I heard the start of a curse. I slid out of the way, not quite quick enough. A piercer was stopped by my armor but still spun me around.

Weasley's wand was still pointed my way.

"I see you."

**...oooOOOooo...**

The _Daily Ploplet_ was in fine form the next day. _Boy Who Kills!_ Skimming the article, I didn't see any mention of Hermione, only that I had been seen to argue with my best friend before starting a fight that left him dead.

Delightful. I'm so glad I never subscribed to that rag. Dobby had picked up this edition while he was out. He thought I should see what they were saying about me. Par for the course, really. Just recently I was a hero for feeding all of wizarding Britain in defiance of the ministry's well-intended but misguided restrictions on travel and commerce. Now I needed to be torn down. Standard British tabloid behavior, something else the magicals and muggles had in common.

The article said, accurately, that Weasley's body had been so badly transfigured, torn apart, and burned that it was scarcely recognizable as human, and not at all identifiable. Only the witnesses — of which there were apparently hundreds, though I wouldn't have thought more than a dozen would have been able to get a view into that side alley — were able to tell DMLE who was involved.

Although the way the arms had been switched, so he could shoot himself in the back for a change, should have given them a clue.

And speaking of DMLE, they hadn't shown up for the fight because they were now under-staffed and it took time to assemble a large enough team of aurors to come arrest me. But they were looking for me now, "with every resource at their disposal".

It didn't matter what the _Prophet_ said or the sheep thought. The aurors were already under order to arrest me, and the ordinary wizard needed me and my bank and my loans more than I needed him.

**...oooOOOooo...**

As Winter melted into Spring, the banking business continued. Malfoy's bank, which had been taken over by the Greengrasses after his demise, folded. Who would have thought that there was no profit in putting your own wrapper on a galleon and charging a premium for the still-worthless lump of lead. The Fudge-Yaxley bank, which was doing the same thing, survived only because they made a deal that the ministry would pay salaries and expenses only in F-Y galleons.

As for myself, I spent more of my time at home or in the Muggle world. Bank business had smoothed out enough that I wasn't needed as much. And, while the aurors still didn't try to arrest me on sight, I faced much more scrutiny and hostility whenever I went out into the wizarding public. A few people had closed their accounts with my bank, but not enough to affect business. Our services were not available elsewhere, so customers stayed regardless of what they might feel about me.

So I stayed at home, puttering around a bit and taking care of my properties, but mostly moping and wondering what to do. This was my first down time that I could remember and I didn't know how to be idle.

"Higher, Harry!"

Fortunately, Natalie could always drag me away from my den and my doldrums. Swings don't push themselves, you know.

Tracey came over one evening bearing carry-out, new special-purpose clothing, and a determined attitude. She would cheer me up even if it took several fold-up paper cartons and prolonged bouts of nudity.

"You need a vacation, Harry. A real one, not the few days you spent with me. That was fun, but hardly restful. Your bank is running well now and you have money. You can take me to the beach in Egypt. I already checked. The weather should be warm and clear for the next week, so let's leave in the morning."

"And will you be sunbathing topless? I hear it's acceptable at some of the beaches."

My currently on-again girlfriend blushed and shook her head. Victorian morals.

It was fine. We'd have six nights in the hotel room, so it didn't matter that her new swimsuits were both full-coverage. Modest, too.


	4. Author's Note

**Modest, Too**

**Author's Note**

The following chapters conclude _Modest, Too_. That is, each of the following chapters concludes the story. I thought of this, after I published Chapter 3, as a writing exercise to see what I could do with the setup of the first three chapters. Choose the one you like as the canonical ending; it's no skin off of my nose. And try to guess which was my original intended ending.

I have four endings plotted and partially written. There may be more if I think of them. They'll be posted as I finish them and see fit. (And at my usual slow update rate. Family and paying work come first.) You'll know the last one is up when the story is marked as Complete.

**Story Notes**

1) Value of gold: Galleons are "the size of a hubcap", according to a Muggle in _The Goblet of Fire_. Allowing for exaggeration, let's call it a four inch circle and an eighth of an inch thick — very thin for that size coin. Crunching the numbers we get a smidgeon under 16 troy ounces. (Recall that troy ounces, used in measuring gold and silver, are not the same size as the common avoirdupois ounces.) At the 1999 rates for gold, that would come to around 3000 pounds sterling per galleon — a bit off of the official five pounds per. No wonder the goblins were stealing.

2) Whining: Several comments on Chapters 2 and 3 noted that Harry was whining an awful lot, especially about problems of his own making. Um, yes, that's right. I'm guessing that the commenters either don't spend much time around teenagers or else are teenagers themselves and don't notice it.

**Acknowledgements**

jeconais, of course. He wrote the beginning of the story which I fostered into growing waaay outside the original premise. Like when you take someone's child and feed him Toxic Waste™ to see if he'll develop mutant powers. Er, no, that's kind of creepy. And worse, it's a bad analogy.

clell65619, in _The Marriage Contracts Redux_, had Dumbledore desperate to find how Harry killed Voldemort.

Rorschach's Blot, _Make a Wish_: Harry has a chip of basilisk fang in his arm.

Probably others, though I can't think of any explicit borrowing or outright theft.


	5. Rebuild

**Modest, Too**

**Chapter 4: Rebuild**

Alexandria in Springtime is very warm and pleasant, at least by an Englishman's standards for Springtime. Tracey and I weren't the only English there, by far. Not that I spent much time talking with my countrymen. I was too busy sleeping in the sun for that. A lot of sleep, a lot of sun, some swimming lessons, some touristing about, and a lot of exercise at night. Not only private exercise, but dancing. I discovered that dancing can be fun if you have a fun partner. And there was no discussion of my plans or my problems or my to-do list, enforced by Tracey's unique carrot-and-stick method.

When we got back I found that the world indeed had not ended. The Decent Folk Bank of England was running just fine. Walsh was showing that he deserved a partnership if he wanted it. And Gamp had even managed to convince some senior ministry officials to put a hold on my arrest-on-sight orders until there'd been an honest investigation into my so-called crimes. All it had cost was a few loans at lower interest rates than we'd normally charge. Not exactly above-board but not exactly bribery, either. Par for the course in Wizarding Britain.

Not all was peaches and cream. Right when Tracey and I returned to the Black Summer Cottage, Mr Davis was complaining about a handful of new laws – at least another six in just a week. The Wizengamot was apparently happy to destroy the economy so long as its members personally benefitted. I'm sure not _all_ Wizengamot members were corrupt and self-serving, but any notional honest members were unable to stop the train wreck in progress. The only bright side about this is that most people had taken to ignoring the ministry as much as they could. Easy to do, when the laws were not published. And even easier to do, when the DMLE was suffering a severe staffing shortage.

The other bad spot was no one's fault but my own. Well, mine and Tracey's.

"Harry! Tracey! I missed you! Mommy said you'd bring me back a present. What did you bring me?"

Oops.

We'd been gone a week and it hadn't even entered my mind to buy souvenirs. It would have been better to miss my girlfriend's birthday (August 6; I needed to mark that on my calendar) than to completely forget a six-year-old.

"Instead of bringing back just one small present from Egypt, how about we take you to a toy store and a book store and buy you two presents? Does that sound like a good deal for a young lady?" I was very tired after dual apparating two people two thousand miles, but I wasn't going to let the little girl down.

**...oooOOOooo...**

A week later, once we'd caught up on our work and rested up from our vacation, Tracey and I made a date for a nice, quiet dinner. Given the way our previous two dinner dates were disrupted, we took the safe course by getting all dressed up, meeting in my entry hall, and walking to the dining room. The household's three elves pulled out all the stops to prepare a swank meal. Tracey's family had been asked to leave us alone and the elves were the very soul of discretion.

"So, Tracey, what have you been thinking about?" Something had been on her mind since the start of our vacation. I didn't pester her about it last week because of the horrific threatened penalty for conversation more serious than "what should we do after lunch?"

"A lot of things. The world, you, me. Us."

Well, that narrowed it down. "We haven't yelled at each other at all for weeks. Well, except for you screaming, 'Oh, Harry!'" As usual, I was unable to dodge her swat. I'll have to ask around to see if it's normal that men are unable to avoid their wives' and girlfriends' swats to the shoulder. "So is it too much to hope that this is not a break-up speech?"

"No, that's not it at all. I've been thinking about what I want and how to get it. And how to help the world, the whole wizarding world. And about us.

"And I realized something. You're almost everything I wanted, Harry. Money so I'll never have to worry about doing without. Power to knock down the rich families who kept my family from getting ahead. Power to keep me and my family safe. And you make sure to keep me, ah, _satisfied_."

I wasn't too happy with that litany. Being interested in me for my money was as bad as being a Boy-Who-Lived fan-girl. The last part of her list was ok; I worked hard for that.

"That's what I was looking for since I was little. Well, not that last one. You know. But the thing is, it's not enough. Everything I just said is just things for me. Selfish things. I've been watching you since we were in school and even more for the past year. You work so hard and spend so much of your own money to help others."

Traci took my hand and looked deep into my eyes. I braced myself for the "But".

"And I really admire that. I liked my part in setting up that first market. It was better, more fulfilling, than working in the shop, sweet-talking a vendor into a better price. It was exhausting but worth it. I would love to be able to do more of that. And you set up the market and the food give-away before that. You did it to help people even though you didn't have to and you don't even like most of the wizards you meet. You did it because you really are a good man, Harry.

"The point is, after my mother and grandmother made me sit down and think about it, I do want to be with you, Harry. Like Daddy said before, I can almost see being with you for the next fifty years."

Almost.

"The only problem I have with you, Harry, is you're starting to use killing as your first response to a problem, not your last. It's changing you, Harry. You don't smile much any more, you never laugh. And I get the idea you're always thinking about how to kill someone.

"And it's bothering you, too. I can tell. Every time I spend the night here, you have nightmares. Ah, no, that didn't come out right."

"Haha. But you're right. They're worse when you're not with me. I barely sleep now if you're not here."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you stopped Malfoy. I was so scared. But only for a little while. I knew you would protect me.

"But, Harry, don't you see? You're getting harder. Darker. You're not the likeable man I fell in lo– got a crush –. You're not the likeable man I fell in love with. And even if you don't care about that, it's tearing you up, Harry. I can't let you do this to yourself without trying to help you."

Except for the declaration of love, this is almost the same conversation we had late last year. Maybe that is because we were interrupted and never did finish it. Or maybe she's right and I'm going further down the wrong path.

"So I was thinking, maybe we could work together. I could help you find ways to solve problems and annoyances without killing everyone. And stop you thinking all purebloods are incompetent, greedy inbreeds."

She might be on to something. Sleeping with Tracey helped with the nightmares. It would be better to get rid of them altogether. I never remembered enough to say what they were about but it was a good guess my conscience was beating me up. Cutting down on my body count would be a good step, so long as I could still achieve my goals.

"I like what you're saying. But what about you, Tracey? You told me how you want to help me, but what are you getting out of this? Aside from spending time with my wonderful self, of course."

"Oh, amazing Harry Potter, what more could any girl ask than to spend time with your wonderful self?" Tracey giggled, a welcome break from the heavy conversation. Though to be honest I didn't care much for giggling. It was a girlish habit and my life was too much for a _girl_. But that was kind of the point of this conversation and maybe I needed to lighten up.

"My family isn't that successful. I'm sure you've seen that. We're doing ok, but one little setback and we'll lose everything. It was worse when I was younger. That's why the Hat put me in Slytherin instead of Hufflepuff. I wanted to be successful enough that I'd never have to worry about being poor. And then as I got older and saw more of how the rich, powerful families kept families like mine from really getting ahead, I wanted to do something about that.

"Harry, don't take this the wrong way, but if I'm with you I can do all that. Even with everyone acting against you, even with all your gold being lead, you still found a way to rebuild your fortune. And even if that went away, you've got your Muggle properties. Your family will never go hungry."

I frowned inwardly as Tracey stopped to draw breath. She routinely talked more than I did – much more – and I was used to it. But at the moment her mouth was digging her into a hole.

"And to turn around your question a minute ago, what will you get out of being with me? Aside from continuing to be blessed with the presence of a prime specimen of young womanhood, of course." Tracey copped an exaggerated model's pose. It was good to know she wasn't taking herself too seriously. But she made a good point. Rather, a couple of them. I'm not so shallow as to let large breasts overwhelm all of my good sense, but neither am I so foolish as to not appreciate what's right in front of my face.

"Seriously, Harry, if I'm with you and you let me, I can help you think of ways to deal with problems other than killing everyone. Oh, I don't think you've ever actually said you killed those aurors or Lucius Malfoy. Not when you were awake. And don't worry. I've never repeated anything you said in bed.

"Oh, and one other thing you'd get from this. You keep your temper better when I'm nearby than when you're not. My mother mentioned that. If I'm around I can help you with that.

"And I can help you with a few other things. Teach you to act more politely, maneuver people to get what you want, that sort of thing. Things we had to learn from Day 1 in Slytherin House."

Finally she seemed to have run down. "Tracey, I have two questions. First, you've talked for thirty minutes about how you'll change me to make me a better person. That's not how you put it but it's what you meant. What changes are you willing to make, to make yourself a better person?"

"Ah, um… I hadn't thought about that."

"You need to grow up. I don't mean to be cruel when I say that, but you still look at the world like it's the way you think it should be, like I don't need to fight back when I'm attacked. I don't know how you kept that attitude through the war and killings and what Snape turned Slytherin House into. Maybe that's a good thing, especially in a teenage girl, but it won't work for anyone who's going to be with me.

"I think you need to get a bit harder and tougher. You're right, I've taken it too far, but if you're going to be in my life you'll have to set childhood behind. You said it yourself a couple of months ago: I'm always fighting. I don't look for it, but that's the way it is. And there are still problems in the world. You and a lot of others have been pushing me to fix things. If I'm going to stay here I'm going to fix them and that will make me more enemies."

I drew a breath to relax a bit. Mild irritation had been growing for the last half hour and had carried me through that last rantlet. I had to set that aside for the next.

"And second, we've been talking about what we will do for each other and how your family can benefit. A lot of what you said was long-term plans for being together. A lifetime. Tracey, are you proposing marriage?"

"Ah, um…" Tracey couldn't meet my eyes. "Not yet. And it wouldn't be proper for me to ask you. But if you propose in a few months, I won't say No."

**...oooOOOooo...**

Tracey's duties of working with me on non-lethal approaches to enemies began with the Wizengamot. If they had just stayed out of the way of the people who were just trying to live their lives I probably would have left them alone. The extortion that Mr Davis had mentioned was just a fraction of their manipulation. It's possible that these paragons of pureblood pride didn't understand that they were ruining everything for everyone — in case I've never mentioned it before, wizards are stupid and purebloods are thumb-chewing morons. But it's also possible that they thought that things were crashing down and they wanted to get while the getting was good.

Either way, we'd be better off without the Wizengamot.

By and large we'd also be better off without the ministry.

It just so happened that the Wizengamot met in the ministry building.

It just so happened that a large natural gas line ran very near the ministry building. And Dobby and I could tap it and send new lines into the ministry offices. And I knew how to make mechanical timed igniters. And Dobby could put them in place with no one the wiser. And it would be deliciously appropriate to kill them with a natural gas explosion, considering how often that excuse was used to explain away destructive magical battles to the muggles.

And it just so happened that my newly-acquired conscience came with great tits, killer legs and a pretty face. It's not easy being a teenager.

Rather than let me kill everyone, at least without trying other approaches, Tracey suggested a campaign of terror. Oh, she phrased it as "warnings", but the idea was to frighten the geezers into acting right.

The elder Davises were helpful in letting us know whom we should leave alone and who needed the most attention. All we had to do was ask a few leading questions when we talked about the news of the day. The Davises' friends-of-friends network kept them plugged in to the news and gossip. I'd been distancing myself from them because I was still angry about the way they'd taken the money to pay for the markets and because of disagreement over what I should be doing to help people and make the world a better place. But this was a way for us all to work on something together even if they didn't know it.

Dobby snapped a few wands while their owners slept and left the pieces on notes that said, "I could have snapped your neck." Tapper used a trick that, oddly, he had seen in a movie: he left the head of one old witch's favorite horse in her bed. (It occurred to me afterward that I must never tell Tracey or Natalie that we had hurt a horse.)

And I hit them where it hurt. I robbed the Fudge-Yaxley Bank, where most of them kept large vaults. "Robbed" may not be the correct word. "Destroyed", that's the word. It took more effort to find the place than it did to bring it down. Their security was pathetic: an above-ground stone building with wards to keep unwanted wizards out. A pair of golems stomping around at night. Nothing else that I could find. Pathetic. I didn't have to come even within their detection perimeter. I circled the grounds on my broom casting _Juggernaut's Inferno_ toward the building. This fire is like Fiendfyre in that it can't be put out, but it doesn't need to be constantly controlled. It will burn everything until it reaches the sea or another wall of Inferno. The bank was nothing but rock ash and metal flakes by the time Dobby came back from keeping an eye on the fire.

But Sukki came up with the nastiest idea of us all. Three of the most venial Wizengamot members had small grandchildren or great-grandchildren living at the family manor. All three of them lost their children one night. It's not as bad as it sounds. My elves disabled the houses' elves, gave the children sleeping potions, and carried them outside to me. I apparated them all to St Mungo's. No harm done and some of the children probably slept until they were back home. But the message was clear.

Amazingly, a number of the most venial, most corrupt, or most bigoted members refused to moderate their stances despite threats and losses. However, enough changed their ways to make the Wizengamot as a whole less venial, corrupt, and bigoted. And most of the worst members' seats ended up going to new blood over the next few months.

It would be a gross exaggeration to say the Wizengamot became honest or competent or progressive, but they backed off some on the extortion and the interference. About as good as we could hope without killing the lot of them. And that gas line was still there, in case I ever needed that option.

**...oooOOOooo...**

While we'd been on vacation an idea started percolating through my head. Tracey was right: I'd been getting burned out and using up my energy pointlessly. While in Egypt, I didn't spend any effort pushing these ideas, as I had better things to focus on. Nevertheless, they were there in the back of my mind.

One of the ideas concerned money and keeping things going on the non-magical side of things. I needed Muggle money. The entire wizarding world needed Muggle money if we wanted to keep eating without stealing the food.

Judging by my findings at the market when I made the big announcement about the lead coins, a quarter or a half of the older coins are real gold. The problem was in identifying the real gold coins. Breaking the enchantments on a single coin so I could cut it in half didn't take too much time or energy. Breaking the enchantments on close to ten million coins was another matter. So what I needed to do was figure which coins were real gold. An even sixteen troy ounces of gold was well worth the effort of breaking a coin's enchantment.

Some of the enchantments masked the weight, or the density, of the coins. The Archimedean method of spotting counterfeits wouldn't work here.

I checked for odors given off. The fakes should have a trace of lead. No dice. It seemed that the charms which prevented wear and tear had the side effect of preventing stray molecules from being knocked off.

Putting the coins in the anti-magic cells in the dungeon didn't help. (And working out a method of safely locking myself in a cell so the anti-magic field would kick in, but I'd be able to get back out, was a several-hour challenge in itself.) After bringing other types of items into the cell I determined that I wasn't able to use enchanted items but the enchantments remained in effect on the items. I'd have to think about how that might be a weakness in my cells, as well as how I could make use of it if I were to find myself in someone else's cell.

In short, I spent part of every day for a week, testing the Gringotts coins every way I could think of to sort the gold from the lead.

In frustration I went back to the gold dealer who got me started on discovering the lead galleons.

"It's thirty years' experience, young man. It wasn't a real coin, I was pretty sure, because I didn't recognize it. It wasn't solid gold, I could tell by bouncing it in my hand. That doesn't mean much, though, because most 'gold' coins are alloys. The surface didn't feel quite right under my thumb, I couldn't scratch it, and there was something about the way it reflected light that didn't look quite right. I'd have measured and weighed the coin to make a guess at the alloy, but my new, electric scale chose that moment to stop working. I'm not an old stick-in-the-mud, but there's something to be said for the old-style sliding weight balance beams."

I had to suffer through a rant on the problems that come with "electrifying" everything. I'd bought the man coffee and scones as the agreed-upon cost of the lesson, but the real price was listening to the traditionalist rant.

After most of another week, largely spent re-doing the previous week's tests and picking Tracey's, Walsh's, Marie's, and even Natalie's brains for ideas, I finally noticed that one line of writing was different on each coin. A serial number, of course. Long story short, the third "letter" showed if the coin was fake. Problem solved.

Well, one problem. Sorting that huge pile of coins was going to take a while. Elf magic wouldn't do it. Developing a charm to separate the coins based on that one letter was beyond me. "Beyond me" wasn't saying too much, but a charms master I consulted set a price higher than seemed reasonable. Muggle technology might be able to do it, if it weren't for the electronics jamming effect. Bottom line, the coins were going to be sorted by hand and eye.

Tracey and I made a "family" activity of it, going through the coins in the evening as we chatted. It would take years to go through the mountain, but we were hoping to have years together. (Not just hoping. We were planning and working hard for it.) In days of yore, people would occupy themselves with knitting or snapping peas or sharpening tools in the evening, so this was something like getting in touch with our roots. Who says I'm not a traditionalist?

And the final problem came up. We didn't have nearly as many gold coins as I'd expected. Based on the market, I'd been hoping that a quarter, even a third, of the coins were real. I'd have been happy with a tenth. What I actually got from my mountain was a little better than one in a thousand.

After I thought about it, that made sense. The goblins had been stealing the real gold coins. They'd have made sure to comb through the piles in the Gringotts vaults, leaving nothing but lead for the wizards to draw out. Only the gold coins that stayed in circulation, in the public's hands, without passing through Gringotts would have remained un-snatched.

Still, a thousandth of ten million coins was nothing to sneeze at. I wouldn't be able to buy myself a country, but I didn't need to work for the rest of my life. Neither would my children, even if I had the dozen that the old lush predicted that one time.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Breaking into the _Daily Prophet_ was difficult, or at least more difficult than breaking into several Death Eaters' houses had been. Between the reporting side, the business office, and the printing operation, the building was always occupied. If I'd been raiding a Death Eater that wouldn't have been a problem, but here I needed to not be noticed because I wasn't planning on killing everyone I met.

In a bit of a turn-about, I was acting as Tracey's conscience. Normally she was the one to help me find alternatives to killing. But the _Prophet_ had gored her ox and her level head went out the window. _Penniless pureblood pretender_ insulted her family and had her grinding her teeth. _We can only hope the ministry will seize Potter's possessions before the gold-digging bitch can get her paws on them_ had me casting a muffling charm on Natalie's ears as I hustled her away from her big sister's filthy mouth. But I will give them a small amount of credit: they were somewhat even-handed in passing around the insults. …_so desperate as to chase after a wanted murderer living high on his ill-gotten gains._

Mixing a few drops of veritaserum into every pot of ink in the reporting and editorial offices took all night. My original plan had been to do something to the presses to keep them from printing lies. Well, that's not quite true. My original plan had been to pull the arms off of the editor and the articles' authors. But Tracey quickly pulled herself down from her mad, remembered her promise, and worked with me on a less satisfying response.

Alas, I could not figure out a way to filter the presses' output. A test at The _Quibbler_'s print shop (with a fake article asserting that Fudge was the most honest politician of all time) showed that I could not make the press "smart" enough to prevent a lie from being printed onto the papers. But a bit more experimentation showed that veritaserum mixed into a pot of ink would keep Tracey or me from writing a falsehood with a quill. At that point it was just a matter of providing a discrete brewer with gold and a few hard-to-find items that the Davises imported for me.

The morning's _Prophet_ came out, as full of lies as ever. Naturally. That edition had already been written and was being printed as I made my raid. The day after, it didn't come out. I wish I'd thought to leave a listening bug in the offices.

This wasn't much more than a prank, but it should give us a few days' relief while I thought of something else. And, while I was thinking, I should also think about the best way to use "Veritasink": sell it or use it surreptitiously. Tracey would have some ideas once she calmed down more.

And it was indeed only a prank, and gave us only one day's relief. The following morning's paper was rather on the thin side, but all the most offensive "reporters" had twice as much material as usual. Of course. Quick-Quotes quills are self-inking, so they wouldn't have been affected by the Veritasink.

The _Prophet_'s next attack was under Gladys Gladhand's byline. It seemed that she and Skeeter were taking turns. This was an "in depth" look at the Davises' business, playing up the claim of my girlfriend being a gold-digger.

Tracey had mostly calmed down but this latest had her wanting to go into the newspaper's office with guns blazing. She muttered something about me giving her Gladhand's head gift-wrapped in a box. But instead she took it out on a pile of conjured dishes, flung against a wall.

The next day's _Prophet_ was blank. "The most truthful edition they've ever put out," more than one person observed.

I couldn't prevent lies from being printed, but I could prevent them from getting to the readers. Fading ink looked perfectly normal when the papers were fresh off the presses, but within three hours after being exposed to air it was paper-colored.

That was probably the last time I'd be able to break into the _Prophet_'s office. They'd increased the guard staff to the point that I had trouble doing my mischief without having to hurt someone. That was ok. Ever-more security on payroll played into my next line of offense. Assuming they didn't knock it off with the attacks and stick to straight reporting of the news. Yah, right.

The disappearing ink was nothing more than another delaying tactic. We had major lines of attack. The first was a long-term investigation into links between the ministry and the newspaper. "Follow the money", but also follow the paper trail. It seemed that magical reporters were like their non-magical counterparts, never throwing away any notes or first drafts. If the ministry was telling the _Prophet_ what to print, there should be records somewhere.

… Assuming my spy was honest, competent, and actually working for me. This was my (and Tracey's) first experience with hiring a spy, er, covert investigator, and she may be playing me for a fool.

The second was a look at the _Prophet_'s star "investigative" reporters. Skeeter was an unregistered animagus, which she used to spy on meetings and people. Gladhand probably had something equivalent. So far as I could tell, the wizarding world didn't have anything resembling thorough, logical investigation, in the DMLE or anywhere else. It was possible that Gladhand had picked up techniques from muggles, but it seemed more likely that she had some cheat. We had people looking into ways to knock both of the nuisances out of the business.

Our third approach wasn't quite as upright and honest as paying someone to dig through old records or to look for blackmail material. I wanted to put the _Prophet_ into such financial trouble that I could buy a major interest in it. To this end I was interfering with their production and deliveries when I got the chance. Industrial sabotage. I'll be honest with myself even if my methods had Tracey's approval and we were keeping it quiet.

The _Prophet_'s office was warded against howlers. Not surprising. And just as well. I'd found, when I created a few test howlers with _intent_, that they were loud enough to cause permanent hearing loss… to people in the next room. The recipient wouldn't have to worry about his ears because the howler's detonation was like a hand grenade. But, as I said, it's just as well the offices were warded against howlers. This was the kinder, gentler Harry, the one who didn't frighten his girlfriend by doing things like shred people who told lies about him.

But kinder, gentler Harry, the public-spirited philanthropist, had a public service announcement to make. And Harry the businessman had something to sell.

"Rita Skeeter is an unregistered beetle animagus! No one's private life is safe as long as she's able to sneak around. You can buy these anti-animagus wards to put in your windows and doors, five for a galleon."

Digging into Gladhand's secrets didn't reveal much, and nothing we could blackmail her with. All I was able to get was a bit from her estranged husband about how she was honest, single-minded, and relentless once she got an idea in her head. Not a sleaze like Skeeter, writing any outrageous lie to sell copy or for her own sick amusement, but a True Believer who had come to truly believe that I would be the death of the wizarding world. That didn't explain the viciousness of her attacks on Tracey and her family. However, Tracey was pretty, and growing beautiful as she matured, whereas Gladhand… In the non-magical world I'd have said she'd been cursed with ugliness. In the magical world, that might not be just an expression. Anyway, it could be simple jealousy of a woman who might be using her looks as a path to wealth and power. That seems too easy an answer, but no one could come up with any other explanation.

Not having any blackmail material on Gladhand left me unsure of what to do. Kinder, gentler Harry wasn't going to feed her to pigs, though resisting that temptation was hard, very hard. In the end I decided that the line was publishing my home address or the Davises' address. If she didn't cross the line I'd ignore her like a yapping dog.

Tracey and I complained about it to each other when it became especially wearisome. The nonsense printed in the _Prophet_ was annoying but easily ignored through the simple expedient of not subscribing to or reading the paper. But the ordinary people who read the _Prophet_… what was _wrong_ with them? How could they take their opinions from a rag whose lies changed from day to day? Either there is something wrong with wizards' brains or these people never learned skepticism and logic as children.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Next is Natalie Davis. Natalie, come up here and tell us about your guest and then he can talk."

I was here in Nat's first grade classroom, standing against the wall rather than folding myself into the pint-sized chair next to the teacher's desk. Nat had asked me to come in so she could let everyone see her favorite thing. Show-and-Tell Harry, lined up with hamsters and tattered books, no doubt. Why not? I took it in good humor. Nat didn't even have to use puppy eyes to get me to agree.

"Harry is lots of fun and he always pushes me on the swing and chases me around and he took me to the amusement park and my sister lives with him so I don't have to share a room. He has a big house and lots of houses and a bank and other stuff. And he's a good cook, too!"

"Hello, everyone. As Natalie said, I'm Harry. I'm her sister's boyfriend, and when I'm around Nat I play with her so she doesn't feel left out." Let's just slide around the "lives with" part while we're in a first grade classroom, shall we?

"Mr Potter, can you tell the class about yourself? Natalie said you have lots of houses. You're a landlord?"

"I'm a businessman. I own a bit of property and rent it out. I started a bank last year and it's doing well. And I do a few other things here and there."

"How did you do all that? You're hardly old enough to have finished school, let alone start businesses."

"No, I never finished school and I didn't learn anything useful past primary school. Ah, listen up, kids. I got my start in business because I inherited the money and property to get started. I never finished school, and if it hadn't been for my parents I'd probably be washing dishes for a living. Unless your parents are really rich, you need to stay in school and study hard and learn everything you can so you can get a good job."

Aside from describing the hundred tasks a landlord does, that was about all there was to the Show and Tell. But it got me thinking.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The destruction of the Fudge-Yaxley bank had several unexpected effects. Well, one that I'd somewhat expected and several others which I hadn't. The bank's little mishap greatly affected the wizarding economy. It's not that F-Y coins were predominant or especially desired, but the ministry continued to deal only with that brand of lead galleons. That's it for what I'd expected.

Now, with the surprise loss of their vault at F-Y Central, the ministry was in a cash crunch. Payday was coming and the employees weren't going to be put off with IOUs as they were last time. Neither were the ministry's suppliers, and this time the ministry didn't have the brute force to force the issue. Yet another benefit of my defending myself from the ministry's goon squad. If they'd spent more time hunting Riddle and his playmates and less time shaking down honest citizens, maybe more of them would be alive today. And if snorkacks crapped gold, we wouldn't have had an economic meltdown last year. (I wonder what Luna's doing? She left school at the same time I did, right after her OWLs, and reportedly left the country. I always knew she was smart.)

So the ministry needed money right away. The F-Y bank wasn't officially out of business, but they had only small amounts available and limited capacity for making more. Not enough in the time needed. The Greengrass (formerly Malfoy) bank had folded months ago. Their coins traded on par with old goblin galleons, which is fair because they were nothing goblin galleons with a new bank's name stamped on top. And now that I thought about it, I should look up whoever did that work and see how he did it. He didn't entirely break the goblins' anti-tampering charms, but bypassed them somehow. Maybe I could use that technique to go through the rest of my mountain of galleons.

So, to return from yet another digression, the ministry needed money and they needed it quick. Walsh quite correctly passed the buck to me. Partner or no, this was beyond his ability. He and Gamp joined me on my side of the table for the confrontation, er, meeting.

"Potter, we've come to offer you a deal. You're in a lot of trouble with the ministry, both criminal trouble and other legal trouble. I don't think I need to waste all of our time reciting your list of crimes. It's enough to say that you would never leave Azkaban and everything you own wouldn't cover the fines. But to save the trouble and expense of the trials we're willing to make a deal. You give the ministry the money to cover expenses for the next six months and we won't bring you to trial so long as you keep your nose clean. Do we have a deal?"

I'd prepared myself with a calming draught, expecting to need to keep my temper under control. The potion also damped my laughter down to two whoops and a few giggles, er chuckles. "No deal. I'm not going to voluntarily subject myself to trial by the thieves and extortionists on the Wizengamot. I doubt you can drag me in for a trial. You're having a bit of a staffing problem, aren't you, what with people not wanting to slave away for lead? And that was even before your pet bank went boom.

"I'll make you a counter-offer. If you can provide enough security, backed by oath to honor the debt, I'll open a ministry account and loan you enough money for operating expenses. Mr Walsh and Mr Gamp will work out terms and the security.

"Criminal charges and probation are not a part of this deal. First, I've never been informed of these so-called charges. It's interesting that the aurors, the dark wizard catchers, were ordered to arrest me without knowing why. They themselves are breaking the law every time they try. Second, I frankly doubt your entire auror force could bring me in. Do you think I've shown you _all_ of my tricks? You don't even know where I live. Third, if there's a move to arrest me or to try me _in absentia_ or to close my bank, I'll close my doors and make sure everyone in Britain knows that the ministry did it. What do you think will happen to the economy when the only remaining bank closes? Here's a hint: More than a quarter of the magical families and more than half of the businesses now have accounts with me. And fourth, if anything happens to me, certain photographs, certain documents, and certain memories will find their way to the newspapers and a few honest Wizengamot members. On that topic, give this envelope to the minister. He'll want to open it in private." That was nothing but negotiating bluff. The envelope had only a note expressing hope that the ministry and we could work together for mutual benefit.

"Gentlemen, now that the true balance of power has been disclosed, I'll leave you to work out your deal."

The rest of that tale is really Walsh's story, not mine. We made a _bundle_. It wasn't so much the terms of the ministry loan, which were very generous by any standard. No, it was the fact that the Decent Folk Bank now had official ministry imprimatur that got us more business. And, though it took the F-Y bank only a month or so to "rebrand" enough goblin galleons for the next month's payroll, the ministry met with a bit of resistance when it tried to force the staff to take the worthless lead. Who would have guessed that ordinary people preferred money that was worth something? Well, who besides me.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Getting the ministry's business wasn't the last ripple effect of the Fudge-Yaxley bank fire. I wore myself down to a frazzle, making more of my coins with the correct magical signature. Most of the new business, like most of the old, would be done with accounting entries, but we needed to put thousands more coins in circulation and I had only a week to make them.

This led me to form another company and hire a number of researchers. One was experienced in "normal" spell crafting and ward development, but she were there mostly to show how not to go about it. Mostly what I was looking for was a questioning attitude toward what everyone else accepted as the unquestioned foundations of our world, along with wild creativity. It was these traits, not any prejudice I may have against purebloods, that resulted in my team members all being muggle-born. Some weren't even magical. I'd hired an engineer, a physicist, and a mathematician who each had a magical sibling or child.

"Gentlemen, ladies, welcome. I told you a little of this when we interviewed. Now that we're all together I'll tell you my goals and then set you loose.

"I want to overturn the way magic is used. I want to overturn the way magic is viewed.

"Scientists in the muggle world have figured out a lot of how the world works, from chemistry to electricity to thermodynamics. And engineers have taken that and figured out how to make things better for everyone. Look at the chairs you're sitting on: plastic and metal made on an assembly line. An engineer designed the chair and the machines to make the chair, and then a man with no education can run the machines and make a thousand chairs a day.

"I want you to study how magic works so we can do some of the same thing magically. I want to harness magical energy so we can make machines to make things so that someone other than a transfiguration master can make consumer goods. I want a magical clothes washer that costs less than six months' salary because we don't need charms masters to make them and I want potions mixing machines. I want to be able to make a thousand portkeys in a day without exhausting a hundred wizards.

"And here's my ultimate goal: I want magical devices that muggles can use. I want Joe Average to walk into his house, flip on the electric lights, knock over the knickknack he got on vacation, and use a reparo-in-a-box to fix it like new. Or he can take a portkey and go get another. If we can let muggles use magic or at least take advantage of it, we can bring down the wall between our worlds.

"So there's my dream. I don't expect immediate results. If you're still interested, work for a year and we'll see where we are then. I'm rich enough to pay for my dream for a long while before it has to pay for itself."

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Hey, Sweetie, you're missing supper. You don't want to make Tapper upset after he made roast beef and Yorkshire pudding just for you, do you?" Tracey had been working long hours lately. I knew vaguely what most of it was: helping in her parents' business, working with me on dealing with problems, and working with a few others on a couple of charity projects like feeding poor children. (A cynical reading of recent history would suggest that the well-intentioned feeding of poor children would lead in a few decades to even more poor, hungry children. But I kept my peace and helped fund her charities.)

We'd both cut back where we could. The elves now did all of the cooking except once in a while when the two of us would cook for fun together to relax. I'd hired several people to sort the gold galleons from the lead; our time was too valuable to spend that way. People now accepted that Walsh was a partner in the Decent Folk Bank of England and no longer insisted that I be present in the meetings that had been eating my days. And I was helping Tracey with her charities. It was very impressive, watching her set a goal and then go after it energetically and relentlessly. I had provided Tracey with a downtown office suite and a couple of assistants to do the scut-work, freeing her up to drum up support and get volunteers and what-not.

Despite this, Tracey had been working long hours, skimping on sleep, and even missing meals. This would not do! I pulled her out of her office. "Planning for the fund-raiser will keep until after supper. You don't want to pass out from hunger. And smeared ink stains on your face would make you look Goth, and that's just not you."

After a delicious and filling supper — more filling for her than for me, as I'd instructed Tapper to keep her plate filled — I brought up her many activities.

"Tell me, Tracey, how is it you're so driven now? When we got together, you were just drifting, trying to figure out what to do with your life. You said it yourself. But now, you're something else." I meant that as nothing but praise. She kept me on track when I was getting lost in details, inspired me when it all seemed pointless, and helped me find non-lethal ways of dealing with problems.

"Oh, Prince Charming, before you came along my life was meaningless."

"I see. So you were just waiting for the right man to make everything all right. You know, if either of us said that out in the Muggle world today, we'd have to run away from a lynch mob. Really, though, what's changed? I liked having you around when you were just a nice and pretty girl, but now I really like being with you. You're more… inspiring. I dream bigger and work harder because I'm trying to match the example you're setting."

Tracey was looking pleased and flattered as I spoke, but looked startled and started giggling after I finished. "Oh, Harry, that's so funny. I'm dreaming bigger and working harder because I'm trying to match the example _you're_ setting."

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

We laughed at ourselves a moment before I asked, "So, should we each keep working hard to keep up with the other, or should we both step back and relax?"

Tracey leaned back and regarded me over her wineglass. "You can be great, Harry. Not ordinary 'save the girl from the monster' great but 'your name going down in history' great. Just trying to live your life, you've shaken wizarding society. What can you do if you set your mind on making the world a better place?"

It was my turn to sit back. "That's tempting. Not the fame, but making things better. But I'm not sure I trust my judgement. Or anyone's judgement. Look at Dumbledore. I truly believe he thinks he's doing the right thing – working on the side of the Light, he always said – and look at what he's done for his Greater Good."

"Behind every great man –"

"– is a woman rolling her eyes?"

"No, you goof. Behind every great man –"

"– is a woman checking out his butt?"

"No! Will you stop it? I'm being serious here. Behind every great man is a woman keeping him on track. Dumbledore didn't have anyone, did he? That's why he went off track."

"You might be right. I'd had the same thought a couple times when I was trying to figure out what's wrong with him. I don't think he's evil and I don't think he's senile. I think he just got used to being the only one he could trust to work toward his Greater Good."

Tracey's eyes half closed in what I recognized as an idea being born. I pulled out a journal and worked quietly. Experience suggested the idea was worth waiting for.

**...oooOOOooo...**

_Dumbledore,_

_It's obvious you're not going to leave me alone. Unless you are obsessed with my young, fit, male body, it must be because you're afraid I'll turn into another dark lord._

_Let me assure you, I have no intention of becoming a dark lord. Despite your best attempts to turn me into another Tom Riddle, I do not wish to rule anyone. I merely wish to get on with my life. Doing well by doing good, so to speak._

_As tempting as it is to see which of us would come out on top in an all-out war, that would be too destructive, to us and everyone around us. Instead, I propose an exchange of oaths: I will swear to work for the betterment of the magical world and you will swear to cease operating against me and trying to control me._

_Perhaps we can come to another mutually beneficial agreement. We have each done things, some legal, some not, which would not withstand public scrutiny. If you exert your influence to prevent any prosecution or harassment for any of my questionable acts, I will prevent the publication of the wills, pensieve memories, notarized testimony, and other materials I have gathered over the years. I believe it is for the Greater Good that all of the potential unpleasantness be kept under covers while the magical world is in such disarray._

_Contact me at your convenience. An owl to my bank is your best bet._

_Regards, Harry Potter Vanquisher of Tom Riddle, Feeder of Hungry Children, Restarter of the British Wizarding Economy_

And just like that, my biggest problems were gone. Well, not "just like that". It took weeks of back-and-forth to negotiate the wording of the oaths. I spent a good amount of coin on wizarding solicitors, an arithmancer, and even a magic-aware muggle solicitor. Money well spent: the old bastard's first offering had no fewer than four loopholes that would have left him free to act as he wished. A sharply worded rebuke and a sharp cutback in what I was offering to swear to made him realize I was serious.

But eventually we mashed together an agreement that gave me everything I wanted. Mainly, Dumbledore would not interfere with what I was doing. He could be assured that anything I did would be for the betterment of all wizard kind. My oath wouldn't let me do otherwise. Oh, I had a bit of wiggle room: I could become as dark as I wanted, I just couldn't act on any of my new inclinations. I could also leave and not come back.

Dumbledore would ensure that the ministry's and Wizengamot's complaints against me would be dropped. I can't say that the charges would be dropped, because no charges had actually been filed. This was more than I had originally asked, but he needed to be punished for attempting to jerk me around with the oaths. On my side, I declined to press charges against the ministry for persecuting me without following their own legal requirements.

And finally, Dumbledore would sponsor me for a Wizengamot seat as soon as I was old enough, 25. Many seats had come open recently and the oligarchic families and groups, which normally kept every seat to themselves, had suffered many losses in the past year. Frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted it, but it would be good to keep my options open. The cost for this sponsorship was me telling him how I defeated Riddle. I have no idea why the old man was so interested in learning this, but I'd gladly use his obsession against him.

Dumbledore might be a manipulative old coot, far too full of his own legend and probably well past the point at which he should have retired to write his memoirs, but it seemed he really was light-sided in his goals. Not so much in his methods, but who am I to talk? "I had to destroy this society in order to save it," to paraphrase from a war from before I was born.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I could finally admit that I wouldn't be able to fix everything wrong with society in a few months or a year. Probably not in my lifetime, even if I didn't get myself killed young. It was time to set things up so improvements would continue without me shepherding them.

Now that people were eating and commercing and questioning the status quo and not needing me to wipe their runny noses, it was time to look to the future.

The biggest problem with wizarding society is that wizards are stupid. Maybe I'm biased. Dumbledore, the ministry, and the purebloods had an unhealthy interest in me. They were most of the people causing me problems. Purebloods, most of them. Hogwarts graduates, all of them. And stupid, almost all of them. Maybe the former didn't cause the latter, but what if it did?

I'd take a wild stab and say that Hogwarts makes wizards stupid. If I were a scientist, I'd design a study to test family influence, school influence, and career choice after graduation. And I'd have to define an objective measurement of stupidity. But I'm not a scientist. I'm a problem solver. It seemed to me that most Hogwarts graduates are stupid, whereas most of the sensible wizards are from other schools.

So, what about spending seven years at Hogwarts makes a wizard stupid? Let me count the ways.

Reliance on memorization and on following instructions by rote. No time at all is spent on developing new spells or potions or on encouraging the students to find creative solutions to problems.

Too few teachers for the number of students. Incompetent or biased teachers who interfere with learning.

Hands-off and biased teachers who encourage bullying by teaching bullies that they won't be punished and by teaching the victims that the authorities won't help them. In fact, the victims are usually punished if they fight back.

House divisions which go well beyond healthy competition and into armed conflict.

Text books and library books with contradictory "facts" and outright nonsense, but treated as unquestionable truth merely because it was in print.

And finally: Dumbledore, the previous generation's savior who has his hands in everything but doesn't seem to do much. Everyone relies on him to fix every problem and then gives up on doing anything themselves when he doesn't. He has so many balls in the air that he lets things drop all the time.

I'd have to take a lesson from that last one: decide what's most important and focus on that. Unload or delegate everything else. If I was going to be overturning the world, I didn't need to be unstopping a toilet because one of my tenant's toddlers had flushed a wash rag.

And another lesson from Dumbledore: don't let the world dump everything on my shoulders. That wasn't much of a problem, as I'd been rejecting savior-hood since forever. Just something to keep in mind.

Regarding schools, like it or not, most of Wizarding Britain's future movers and shakers would be attending Hogwarts. To make the future a better place, it made sense to turn Hogwarts into a better place.

"Dumbledore, have you thought about some of the problems with Hogwarts? Graduates have practical wand-waving skills but no ability to reason or research or _think_." I laid out the things I thought were wrong with the school, trying to be somewhat non-confrontational about it.

Non-confrontation is not one of my skills. Dumbledore seemed to take the shortcomings personally. "Harry, I'm afraid that you lack the experience and wisdom to have an informed opinion on these matters. While your oath ensures that you do your best for our world, your best is not necessarily good enough. I suggest that you stick to your little bank and leave education to the professionals."

Flat failure. And my poor approach combined with Dumbledore's ego and elephantine memory pretty well guaranteed that coming back in six months wouldn't fare any better.

Plan B: Find a different school. If necessary, fund an expansion or improvements to increase its prestige. Use my own prestige to attract students likely to become the next generation's leaders.

I thought briefly about starting a school of my own, but I was already stretched pretty thin. Tracey, too. And Dumbledore was right about one thing: no matter how many flaws I could point out with Hogwarts, I was in no way qualified to found or run a school.

I also thought about bypassing formal schooling entirely and hiring tutors for any children I might have. But I felt resistance to that idea, coming from deep inside. While my oath did not absolutely require me to do everything in my power to fix every problem in the wizarding world, it seemed to make me uncomfortable when I thought about things that would benefit myself but not the rest of the world. Rather annoying, actually.

But one thing was set in stone: There was no way Lily Marie Potter would attend Hogwarts while Dumbledore was still there.

**...oooOOOooo...**

We needed to get started on this soon. It would take months or a year to canvas all of the various schools and pick the best. Assuming the best didn't meet all of our desires, it would take more time to buy our way in and begin the improvements, and years to make the school the new standard for wizarding education in Britain.

In pillow talk one night a couple of months ago, Tracey had told me of her cunning plan to help her family and friends as well as herself. She'd noticed that, even though I had several businesses and was dealing with more and more people — non-lethally, I might add — I had been avoiding any kind of emotional or other commitment.

"Harry? I'm still worried that you might leave at any time. 'One more insult and I'm out of here,' I heard someone say once. I'd hate to leave my family and friends, but if you ask me to, I'll go with you. But I'm worried that Dumbledore will do something or the _Daily Prophet_ will say something and one day I'll come home and you'll be gone. Except maybe Nat and me, you don't have any ties to our world. And if you leave, I'm worried that things will go back to the way they were, or even worse, and I still care about my family and friends.

"Harry, it took me a long time to think of a plan to give you ties to Wizarding Britain. It's a very cunning plan, if I do say so myself. But I know you hate to be manipulated, so I couldn't just carry out my plan without telling you.

"It's been a month since I took my contraceptive potion. There's still some in me, but a fertility charm would clear it away.

"Harry? If I tell you that I want to stay in Britain but that I want your baby, will that keep you here? Will you put one in me?"

I thought things through. Only for a few moments. Tracey's request came as a surprise but it wasn't too far from something I'd already planned for. There could be only one answer.

Nevertheless, Tracey looked worried when I didn't roll on top of her right away. And she grew downright distressed when I rolled out of bed and walked over to my discarded clothes and other gear. "Harry? I'm so sorry…"

I grabbed Tracey's left hand. "I won't 'put a baby in you' without a ring on your finger. Would an engagement ring be enough of a commitment for you, or do you still want the baby tonight?"

She got her big, round mouth and eyes under control, except for the huge smile. "I have to hear the words, Harry."

"Tracey, you came into my life as a beautiful damsel in distress. You helped me, I helped you, and we've done many things together. Since then you've grown into a wonderful, adult lady. You've helped me grow up, too, and you've driven me to accomplish great things. Would you stay with me for the rest of my life? Will you marry me, Tracey?" It's a good thing I'd rehearsed that. I'd expected to say it after a dinner date, probably with an audience. It's harder than you think, saying something as corny as that with any sincerity when you're kneeling next to a bed, naked.

Lily Marie may well have been conceived that night. Tracey showed me the fertility charm; her hand was shaking too much to cast it. Or maybe it was the unaccustomed weight on the one finger.

**...oooOOOooo...**

I worked in my office while Tracey and Lily slept, finishing up the paperwork to close another year. The bank was doing well, having settled down into a steady, reliable money maker with no surprises, exactly what a bank should be. My research institute had the beginnings of an automated assembly line and were making other progress. They weren't making a profit yet, but that wasn't their purpose. The Wizengamot and the ministry, well, they weren't honest and they weren't competent, but they were much better than they had been. Tracey and I had found a tiny mom-and-pop school whose focus was on building practical skills on a basis of skeptical inquiry. We were funding a great expansion; they already had plans in place but lacked the capital.

Without the ministry and Dumbledore actively blackening my name, most of the magical population was in love with me again. _Teen Witch Weekly_ had again declared me the World's Most Eligible Bachelor and had requested a current photo "just to update their records". You could practically hear the wailing of a thousand young witches across the nation when the requested photo included my beautiful, glowingly pregnant wife.

So, at 21 years old I was rich, successful in both magical and muggle business, the acknowledged vanquisher of a dark lord, the unacknowledged reformer of the ministry and the Wizengamot and the world, the philanthropist who fed the children, happily married, and still the lust object of much of the youthful witch population.

All that and modest, too.


End file.
